Clad in Iron, Carved in Stone
by Weaver-Of-Words-And-Dreams
Summary: A continuing story of the flowering love between Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane.
1. Chapter 1

***All charachters and situations in _Game of Thrones _were the ingenious inventions of George R. and adapted by the writers of the HBO series, and I am thankful for them all. My interpretation is a reflection of what I and thousands of other fans wished happened.***

Sandor grew dizzied with the roaring blaze around him. The feelings of helplessness started to creep in upon him and close him in from all sides. With the sky alight in red and green hues, the smell of burning flesh wafted toward him, triggering the sickening response that he soon felt himself smelling his own. Searing pain reanimated his face, and all the strength and resolve in him melted away. His bludgeoned resolve took refuge within him, and his heart and courage cringed like a quivering and abused mutt, shaking in a corner fearing the heel of his cruel master's boot and spur. His own childhood screams filled his head and resonated through the screams of the men being tortured on Blackwater Bay. He knew in his heart that he should have been on no side at all, except of course, by the side of the Little Bird. In his exhausted stupor of wine and shrinking courage, he only thought of the valiance he had centered on her. He would find refuge in leaving this place, where he once was so fearless. He would have been cut down if not for Braunn, and could not bear the shame he would have to face in thanking him for saving his life. _All that fucking fire_…the crimson flames that illuminated the Red Keep, so fittingly named, would not keep him hostage. He denounced his king to the Hand, and his resolve rebuilt itself in him. He was sure that this was the end for him at King's Landing, and maybe even Westeros. He did not know. But he was sure of one thing. Something of valor was to result in all of this; he went to the place where he belonged, to the one who really needed to be saved. He would break the bird out of her cage and set her free.

His new cause renewed his strength and courage, and he ascended upon the back passage he always used as access to her chamber. Only one guard stood between him and her safety, and his blood would stain the way. There would be no obstacle to hinder his cause, and the disgust at the only one guard was posted to protect her was a direct reflection of how her captors never knew the value of their prize. The rage in him moved his sword through his throat and let the curdling gush silence the sentry. As he approached the door the wine swept through him, warming him as a wave that came from his gut into his head. A vision of Sansa smiling broadly at him was encompassing his thoughts. As he placed his hand on the chamber door he shook himself from the dream_._

_Little Birds don't welcome dogs when they are stolen away in their jaws. She fucking hates me. Can't even stand to see my bloody face. I could just crush her between these jaws and not a soul would fucking care. Stupid Little Bird. _

As he entered the room, it was dark and still. No sign of the treasure he was to steal away. _I should just leave her here and leave King's Landing. _But he couldn't just leave her there. Not in the hands of Joffrey her beloved. He began to think of all the times he intervened when she had just had too much, and all of the times he did not. This was his true shame. His heart wrenched every time she was hurt, and although his face never showed it, he felt for her. Every strike she endured made his heart beat faster and his blood boil hotter. She never cringed to her fate, but willingly responded to the call of her abuser…to her master's heel and spur. _So….loyal. _The thought made him move to the corner of the room.

_The fucking Starks and their loyalty…at the master's beckon call like….beaten dogs. _

He thought of himself. So loyal to a point where it hurt. He remembered what he said to her about the sweetness of killing. To be in total control of their last moments. To watch them expire before his eyes. A pleasure that did not discriminate. The fierce and the cowardly, both rich and poor. Satiated with his memories of what gave him the most evil joy, he was himself again. Cold, cruel and strong. A killer, master of his craft. He felt as though he could use his sword again. He may have the opportunity and very soon. What he was about to do would require such delicious bloodshed as her protection and safety were his only cares. All he need do was wait.

The chamber door frantically moved. He keenly watched with his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to behead the thief who came to pilfer the chamber. Sansa burst into the room, exasperated. She slammed and bolted the door behind her, and was strangely reminiscent of the day that the City Watch betrayed her father. She then frantically remembered the terror of the Hound, as he appeared as a looming obstacle between her and the false safety of her chamber. She pounded the door with her soft palm and laid her forehead on it in the frustration of conflicted feelings, not knowing if she had locked her fate instead of finding security. Even as angry and fearful as she was, there was no insult to the heavy wooden door. Her hand seemed to pad on it despite the force she tried to push upon its surface. A picture of the Hound came to her mind. She felt vulnerable and alone. She needed him now, and realized she had come a long way from the way she found him do detestable.

_He seemed so treacherous then…._

A movement shifted behind her. Her ears strained to attention as fear swelled within her. Her scalp tightened as that fear gripped her spine. Next, her nose caught the musky odor of male essence intertwined with sweaty exuberance and the stench of wine.

_A drunken assassin here to rip me apart._ _Who will save me this time?_

She spun around fast as soon as her senses cleared in an attempt to protect herself in any way she could. But to her shock and almost relief, there stood the Hound. He was as fierce as usual, a terrible and looming obstacle, one that she could not avoid. But then she looked into his eyes and saw something that looked less fierce than the rest of him. When her curiosity moved her out of place, the Hound sensed her softness and immediately wanted to bash it away. He was reveling in his glory as a fearsome killer, and that was how he always wanted her to see him. The thought of claiming her made him fight a battle of his own, and he was sure to convince her that the only safe place there would ever be was by his side. He pulled his knife from his side sheath and moved toward her in a menacingly silent stride and gently pressed it against her throat. The closeness of him overwhelmed Sansa. She could smell the wine in which his mind was swimming. The warm steel, soaked by the heat of the flames at the Mud Gate unflinchingly graced the front of her neck. She trembled beneath its kiss, but somehow she was not yet afraid.

"Do you want to die here tonight girl?"

The gruffness of his voice was deep and low. Her mind was in a whirlwind. She thought of all of the times he offered intervention. _How could he do this after he saved me? I thought he was the only one…The only-_

"Answer me girl!"

The thunder in his voice shook her from within. She could feel the tension spread throughout the entire room. She felt completely betrayed. She shook terribly, like a leaf about to fall from a branch in Autumn's wind, trying to cling on to the place it called home. He was her only home, her only safety, and she was at his cruel mercy.

"Nnnnoo my l-lord," she tried to sound brave, but her whole body turned against her; she trembled and closed her eyes tightly as the tears ran down her beautiful cheeks. Her trembling intensified the kiss of the knife.

"I am no Lord! And I would not be the lord who spills your blood Little Bird. But Lord Stannis may. Look around you! Look at the city on fire. Do you think he would have pity on you because you are a Stark? And let's not forget your bloody love-struck King! Do you think any of them will? Lion or Stag? As sure as this knife is upon you they will move it to stain your beautiful silken dress." He said through clenched teeth.

"Loyalty, honor, duty….They have none! Tell me, Little Bird, how much they will spare on you when they have absolutely none? Did they spare some for you after each strike? Or, girl, are you willing to see how far they will go?" His voice intensified as he spoke of the great contradiction.

"You t-t-told me….But you told me about how sweet it was to kill. You are a killer too! How can I trust-"

"Trust? TRUST?" He roared, then he caught himself and took a deep breath.

"I leave Kings Landing now. I can take you from here. You can leave all of it behind. I will protect you and keep you safe."

He waited. The silence was deafening. A moment seemed like an hour, and then, time stood still. Her eyes opened to see his face so close to hers and strangely, she breathed him in. All of his grimacing terror, hate, resentment, sorrow and protection all at once. The knife fell from her throat. The tears that rolled down her cheeks were swept away by a gentle hand. She was in shock once more, but there was always something about how he could be so rough and strong, but at the same time his touch be as light as a feather when he touched her. She saw into him and yes, she was very afraid. But she knew that deep inside of him was something she had never known. Neither he himself, until now. He had laid bare his heart to her for the first time, and she accepted it, even though he is always so terrifying and frightening to her. For the first time, she sensed something more.

She stood there, staring at him, contemplating being saved by Stannis Baratheon instead. But something inside of her chimed in; that safety she had always felt when the Hound was near.

"Quickly girl. Gather your necessities. We've not time to waste. Decide now. "His voice was piercing and urgent, cutting through her moment of thoughts and swaying mind. The magic was over. There would be no more revealing moments, or time to wish for her dreams to come true. That this life that every girl dreams of would turn into a living nightmare was her deepest shame, and she would live it no longer. She darted for the wardrobe and pulled out a sizeable silken satchel and began to go through her things to see what she would take. At the sight of the sizeable bag, the Hound sneered. _Stupid girl._

"Your necessities girl! We travel light and fast." His tone was rushed and laced with annoyance. He began to resent his decision to take her and the burden of having her at his side and under his protection. He would have to teach her so much, from survival to secrecy; he would have to teach her all. He then thought dreadfully of her moon blood, and how distraught she was when it came. He would get her to safety and a woman could possibly help her with her ordeal.

_Seven Hells! Women and their fucking moon blood! I'll have naught to do with that._

But he could not turn back now. He had showed her his heart when he wiped away those tears. But he had to be callous. He had to be himself. She turned her back to him as she stuffed some floral soap, sweet perfume, a comb and some extra small clothes into a less sizeable bag, and managed to forcefully stuff a light cotton dress and petticoat as well as a light shift for sleeping, not even thinking about the fact that they could be headed north. She looked down at her shoes, and changed them for the traveling pair she wore while on King's Road when she left her loving home in Winterfell on her way to her living hell, the one she is leaving behind. Those shoes seemed to make the prospect of leaving even more encouraging, and she rushed to her protector's side. Out of the back chamber passage they went, but not before the Hound disheveled her chamber a bit, so there appeared to be a struggle. Blood from the guard was pooled, and conveniently used to blot here and there to make it appear that Sansa had been wounded.

He then stole the sentry's cloak, though it was stained with some blood. It would not make a difference to him. Sansa was abhorrently repulsed when the Hound forced her to put it on. She was smart enough not to outwardly protest, though she could not wait to take it off as soon as there was an opportunity. They rushed through the night toward the stables, led by the firelight of the battle. Stranger, the large stallion looked just as menacing as his master. His tack and bridle were already upon him, along with some travel satchels that were his standard wear. The bloody cloak encompassed Sansa very well, and enveloped her from suspicion as she stood awaiting the Hound to help her mount the stallion. To her haughty disappointment, he mounted Stranger first and settled into the saddle. For a moment Sansa thought he would not let her ride double with him, for she was a terrible rider. To her relief he outstretched a massive hand. She placed her small delicate one in his, and too tightly he gripped her and pulled her up like she was nothing. In front of him she seemed so small and thanks to the bloody cloak, practically unseen. She didn't look back towards her hell, and felt safe as a rough but steady iron hand came around to secure her into the saddle. The Hound lightly tapped Stranger with his heels and he silently started off towards the southern gate. Surely they would not pass directly through it for there were other indirect ways out of the city. They would not all be guarded now, too many men were needed at the walls. The only challenge would be crossing behind one of Balish's brothel. A perfect place though, as if there were any men there, they would surely be more than a bit distracted, making them easier to kill. As Stranger cautiously cantered through the wood and hidden trails he surprisingly moved along without a sound. Sansa thought this was so incredible for a stallion of his size. But to her this wasn't unusual that this pair surprise her. For as large and foreboding both her charges were, they could be surprisingly silent. The armor the Hound wore made not a clamor as they approached the brothel. The silence could be cut with the finest of blades, until it was time to pass the structure.

"Do not be startled at what you hear Little Bird." The Hound rasped behind her, keeping his voice as low as possible. Sansa startled at the sound of his voice, and at what he said, for she could hear nothing other than the careful falls of Stranger's hooves on the forest ground. But after a moment she heard it, muffled at first, but as they approached the rear of the brothel, they could hear more clearly. Sansa strained to better hear what she should not. But it was so enticingly close. Moans of pleasure escaped the windows here and there. The song of pleasuring whores was being carried on the wind in their direction. This was the first time Sansa had ever heard such sounds, and she was a bit embarrassed that the Hound was behind her this moment, so close to her, with his strong iron hand at her waist. The sounds were beautiful to her, and wondered if sex and intimacy were always just like this. But they could not be. She knew deep in her heart that Joffrey could never make her sing a song so beautiful. She was aware of herself now and wished to know how such music was made. She became aware of something else as well, of the saddle below her as Stranger rhythmically strode through the wood. A tingling that stirred deep within her caused her to shift in the saddle, a move that did not go unnoticed_. _

_Why do they have to be so loud?_ _It is so….unladylike!_

She tried to think as if she was disgusted at what she was hearing instead of being secretly awakened. The Hound lowered his gaze to the treasure in front of him, and was thankful for his armor, for even though he was a hard as a stone in his resolve, his flesh below betrayed him and began to tingle as well. The sounds wafting through the night did not help, and suddenly he became aware of his Little Bird as she relaxed a bit in the saddle as she listened. As they passed the structure the moans got louder.

_Buggering weasel Master of Coin! He can turn any coin into his pocket even during the worst of times. _

It was easier to think of the weasel than of his right hand. Better for them both.

As they cantered through the hidden trail the sounds of pleasure drifted away, not a sentry in sight. The Hound then turned Stranger westward, knowing that a direct route north would be a mistake. It was time to gain speed now. With the sounds of the battle far off in the distance, the sky changed from glowing firelight to a brushed gray canvas of smoke, and finally to a velvet of inky black. The Hound shortened the reigns and leaned slightly forward, causing Stranger to break into a full gallop. There was no more time to waste.


	2. Chapter 2

Stranger had kept an amazing pace for several hours. Dawn was still hours away and the cool night air smelled fresh and sweet. Not a hint of smoke was in the air and the crispness of autumn swirled around them. If not for the thick bloody cape Sansa wore she would be terribly cold out here, her being a little too accustomed to the warm comforts of King's Landing. She was a wolf of the North, despite her soft hands. But she let the warm colors around her southern world trick her mind and heart, and she longed for the steel gray that penetrated her homeland in the end. A few locks of hair graced the face of her protector, and he could smell its floral perfume. He closed his eyes for a moment and let his mind roam for a bit, but it did not last for long.

"Tuck in your hair," He growled. Sansa startled at the sound of his voice. All this long time the ride had been silent. She tried hard to concentrate on the scenery in front of them and the trees blurring by her sides. With one hand, she smoothed her hair around one side of her neck and stuffed it into her collar. She did not realize how tired she was until his voice had broken the silence. Sitting in a saddle was nothing like travelling carriage way. Even though Stranger was a smooth mount, and his stride was long, her bottom was very unaccustomed to sitting in this wide-legged fashion. Her thighs burned from fatigue, and her head pounded from both exhaustion and fear. Still though, she wanted Stranger to press on, and run as far has he could. Sandor notices her posture was weak and thought that now was a good time to stop for a bit. "Hold the saddle girl." She did not wish to. She very much liked the way the distance between herself and King's Landing was growing greater. But then he took the reins into both hands and she had no choice but to comply. He pulled the reigns and signaled Stranger to slow down to a smooth trot. Sandor could see the reflection of the moon inside of the waters of a swift running stream up ahead. His stallion needed to cool down and refresh himself. There was a small glen next to the water, perfectly flat and dry. They would rest there. Sandor dismounted and lifted Sansa off of the horse effortlessly, setting her on the ground a little carelessly, not thinking about the numbness of her limbs and she fell backward into him. With strong and gentle arms, he lifted her and waited until she could find her feet. He left her side and she recovered from her embarrassment quickly. Stranger was then silently led to the stream and down the bank where horse drank deeply, as if he savored the cool water. Sandor drank as well, through big handfuls of water upstream from the horse. The water was exceptionally cool and clean. He turned to Sansa over his shoulder. "Come drink girl!"

"How am I supposed to drink?" She asked, sensing a fit coming on. She hated where she was, and nervously seethed inside. She did not like the stoic look upon his face.

"With that golden goblet in your hand!" He barked. Sansa fumed. She didn't move. She was half angry and half scared at the way he made her feel, and did all she could not to begin whining. After all, she chose to come. He offered and she had accepted. But she was a Lady, and he should know that she would not stoop down to drink from a river, _next to a horse_. He had no sympathy for her at all. He wanted to laugh at the look on her face. If the day had been around her he would have seen the many shades of crimson she wore. Sandor thought for a moment. He had a small wine flask in one of the sacks that Stranger carried.

_She's lucky I have a thirst._

He drank the contents of the flask empty and walked upstream with it. Sansa looked on, and upon knowing what he was about to do, she became ashamed of her tantrum. She could have simply asked for something to drink from. He filled and rinsed the flask several times before offering it to her with fresh clean water. She took it from him with lowered eyes full of embarrassment.

"Thank you. You are so very kind to me," she said in a small voice. He turned and walked away from her. She did not expect a response. He always seemed to have difficulty accepting her kind words. She drank from the flask, and the cool water refreshed her as it flushed down into her belly. Her _empty_ belly. She realized then, that she hadn't eaten because of all of the events.

_How could anyone do anything normal at such a frightening time. Except for… _

Her mind wandered back to when they passed the brothel. She imagined a couple just making love, fully clothed on the battlefield, while the war was going on around them. She knew no better to picture it otherwise. How unusual it seemed to her, that people initiate intercourse when they should be praying in fear. The question hung in her mind and clouded her thoughts. Before she could try to figure out how to frame the question, her companion strode toward her with something in hand. He passed a small tied bundle to her and then took off his cloak and with a flourish, laid it on the ground.

"Sit and eat." He waited for her to be seated and then stood next to her as she untied the bundle. He watched her delicate hand untie the string and inwardly hoped she would be pleased with the contents inside. He knew she must be hungry, as eating in an afterthought in the trenches of fear. She opened the cloth to find some strips of dark salted meat, and gingerly lifted one to taste it. It was very hard and tough, but nicely seasoned with spices she had never tasted before. She would have loved to have it constituted with a simmering broth, but had to just imagine that for now. As she chewed, she closed her eyes, and her small mouth circled with delight. Sandor looked on and smiled on the inside for his small victory. They ate in silence. She looked up at him as his back was turned on her while he surveyed the forest. Stranger fed on grasses that grew on the banks of the stream, and appeared to be at peace with their little resting place. The cloud of thought crept back into Sansa's mind, and her curiosity led her once more to the brothel. If only she had the courage, she would ask and she knew he would answer, even if the reply would be crude, it would be the truth. She pondered how to frame her inquiry. Sandor felt her eyes upon him and knew the answer she sought. He was no fool, and he felt like he had exposed her to something that he may have been able to avoid. There were many ways out of King's Landing, but that was the one he chose. And he chose well.

"What is it girl?" he asked gruffly.

"Won't you sit down with me?" she asked, trying to use the avoidance strategy.

"No to that. Now what's your real question?"

_How did he know? _She flushed, embarrassed at the thought of him reading her inner thoughts. She may as well just ask.

"When…when we were on the trail-"

"Because it makes you feel alive." He briskly interjected. "Fucking makes you feel alive no matter what else is dead around you." And then he walked away. Sansa looked stunned. She expected a straight reply, but that was almost too poetic coming from someone like him. It gave more questions than answers, but she would have to table those for now.

Two clicks and Stranger was by his side. It was time to move on. Sansa retied what was left in the bundle and gulped down the water in the flask. She hurriedly ran over to the stream and washed her hands and face, drank a full flask of water and refilled it again for the road. Sandor gathered up his cloak and rehung it on himself. He then offered Sansa his hand, to her surprise of course. She looked at it, not sure if it was a loyalty offering or a jest of some sort.

"A rung up for your courage Little Bird. You'll be needing more of that in the future."

The words sounded too familiar. In this instance they had a different meaning, and she managed a small smile when the words were complete, and actually felt a bit proud of heself. Sure she had to be brave before, through all the beatings and humiliation, but this was a newfound courage, dedicated only to discovering herself as a woman. This guardian of hers knew a little too much. Maybe that is why she trusted him. It not dare be known that the same kerchief he had given to him the first time he spoke those words was in the satchel she carried. She took his hand and placed her left foot into the stirrup. Over went her leg and her sore ass screamed when her weight settled upon the saddle once again, but she dare not show it. Sandor hiked himself up behind her with ease, and they were on their way again. He had another victory for the second time in one night. He had made it plain that she could go to him for anything. Any question, comfort and care that she would ever need could be solved by him without hesitation. He did know too much about women, and in his selfishness he wanted her to know that, and if she did not understand that now, she would soon enough. His own mind traveled back to the brothel, where he had forgotten himself and his worries so many times before. And it did make him feel alive, but that was only half the time. To plunge himself into a sea of warm wetness, and the intoxicating smell of a cunt was bliss to his senses, and to spew his ejaculate into a waiting mouth or even two was ecstasy for his ego, but to pay after it all was nothing but a shame to his heart. He may have been the biggest and hardest, and maybe even the roughest they had ever known, but he sure as fuck was the ugliest, and they closed their eyes….often, in blinding pleasure or almost in pain. Most times, relief came with the motion of his hand, as he pictured….well, his fantasies were his own, or, they belonged to another man.

_And for fuck's sake, it was free. I could just pay myself. Fuck the whores. _

Once again, hours went by without a word, and soon the sky began to lighten in the east, signaling the close of their flight in the safety of darkness. The Hound was growing more alert now, as he knew the forest was about to clear some, and they would be traveling through a straight meadow. This was a time when they would be completely exposed, unless they could still reach it under the cover of early dawn. He loosened the reins a little more and needed to warn Sansa about what was about to come.

"Hold on tight Little Bird" he said as he kicked Stranger's sides. The stallion grunted and with a snort broke out into a full running sprint. Sansa was terrified. She had never moved this fast before for anything, and the fear that gripped her at the thought of being on a horse at this incredible speed was nauseating for her. She closed her eyes tightly, and held fast to the saddle. Just then, Stranger soared into the air and landed on the other side of a fence. He tore across the fields and meadows just in between the territory that began Riverrun, and not until they had crossed would Sandor turn up north toward Maidenpool. Stranger did not relent his pace as he soared and crashed over fences and obstacles. After minutes that felt tike forever, Sandor could see the beginning of the wood up ahead, and was relieved to see the pale blue of day was still very close on the eastern horizon. They did well and made good time.

_She is still safe. We are far from hell, but not far enough._

He shortened the reins and Stranger decreased his speed, returning to his gallop. Sansa opened her eyes and saw that they had entered the woods again.

"Where are we?" she shouted over her shoulder.

"Riverrun. We go north towards Maidenpool."

He slowed Stranger down into a trot.

"Why are we slowing down?" Sansa began to panic. She needed him to press onward, and further away from danger.

"He needs to rest girl, and so do you," he answered gruffly. He pulled Stranger to a full stop and surveyed his surroundings. There was a jutting of rock inside of a small hollow of trees. It was high and Sandor could easily build a leaning shelter against it to screen them and close them in for insulation. Stranger would also benefit from its concealment.

"We go up to this outcrop. We will not be seen from below if I build a terrain screen." Sansa followed his gaze up into the rough wood and toward the outcrop that he spoke of. It looked like a dangerous ascent. She was more tired than she thought, and feared the vertical route would be too much for her weary legs. She sighed and hung her shoulders low. She was utterly exhausted, and her bottom was sore beyond belief. Sandor dismounted the stallion and led him to begin the rocky climb. Sana was endeared that he did not ask her to dismount, and she was grateful to Stranger that he carried her up all the way.


	3. Chapter 3

The rocky floor was cold and dirty in their refuge. The sun was coming up, and this allowed Sansa to see the filth of her surroundings. The area was littered with leaf piles and tufts of feathers and soft material indicating that there were homes built for mice and other vermin. Sandor expected this, and with a pine bough he began to sweep the floor of stone. Towards the center, there were no darkened areas that indicated that anyone had ever set a fire there, which was to his relief. He did not believe, however that this place was never used for shelter. The nests inside did indicate that no one had been there for a long time, and that was reassuring. Sansa watched him in great appreciation. She thought it very gentle of him that he cared for her so. If fact, he was truly the only one who cared for her now, as there had been no word of Rob or his advances towards her captors. Thinking of the battle made her question whether or not Stannis would have truly kept her safe or killed her. Being rescued by Rob would have been the best of her prayers answered, but as all of her other dreams had played out, there were no happy endings. She was reminded of her father's love, and missed him greatly. She never had a man do anything to take care of her in so long other than Sandor. Thinking of her father's love and protection left her empty inside, for she felt vulnerable and alone in the world. Her heart filled with tears. She tried to hold them back as they brimmed from her heart into her eyes, but she could not. The sorrow could not be suppressed any longer. The realization that Sandor was all she had merged into a culmination of both denial and acceptance at the same time. This realization taught her that she could never survive in this world alone. She started to become jealous of her sister Arya, who was so much stronger than she. Regret crept in as well, and she wished that she was kinder to her. Her sister, for the first time, was genuinely missed, and she could not help thinking of her with a new respect that she never had given her before. The worthless arguments and fights the two of them had seemed so useless now, she was sorry for not being a better sister; even a friend. She was just a Lady, but Arya was so much more.

_If I were Arya I would not be crying right now. I would have killed them all for what they had done to Father and to me._

Anger and sorrow enclosed her and she began to sob loudly. Sandor snapped around, thinking she had been hurt. Still sweeping the interior of their shelter with the pine bough, his hand went immediately to his sword so he could slay the thing troubling her. But this thing could not be quelled with any sword.

"What is it girl?" he shouted.

"I-I miss my father!" And the deluge came, unashamed and pure. She cried her heart out.

Sandor looked at her and straightened, slowly releasing his grip from the hilt of his sword. He watched her as her face was buried in her hands and her whole body shook. Her sobs were deep and breathy, and he knew that this was pure pain and sorrow. He remembered those kind of tears, for they streamed down his own face so long ago. He was just a boy then, but the feeling was the same and sympathy swelled in him. He walked over to her not exactly knowing what to do. He knew how to protect, to slay, to fight, but he had not the slightest idea of how to mend a broken heart, no less a broken spirit. He thought of all the times he stood by through her abuse, and wished he had done something about it.

"I cannot tell you that all will be well within your heart Little Bird, because it is not. But I will tell you that your love for your father will never change. And that is something you can hold dear." That was all he could give her. The truth. Sansa fell into him, and he stood silently, and placed a gentle hand to her back. It was the closest she had been to any one moment of tenderness since her time alone in King's Landing, and it warmed her heart to know that Sandor was by her side. The tears subsided and he released her.

"Stay here Little Bird. I must leave to build the rest of the shelter. I will make a place for you to sleep." Around the rear of the outcrop were more pine boughs he had cut earlier. He laid these down on the stone and layered them high until they were soft enough to make a crude bed. He took off his cloak and laid it down on top. She willingly accepted the bed even though she really did not want him to leave her to sleep alone. Sandor could tell that this troubled her and he gave her encouragement.

"We will be taking off soon and I will make sure you are unseen, get your rest."

With that, she lay down and wrapped herself in the bloody cloak. She could feel the veil of sleep being drawn over her. Crying had taken the last of her energy, and she drifted away. She could hear Sandor in the background, screening her in from danger. She was no longer afraid.

The lean to shelter was not hard to build. Extra boughs and leaves were placed in between the cut branches to make it look like the shelter was nothing more than a tangle of brambles. It jutted outward and a part of it wrapped around so that Stranger could be hidden as well behind the outcrop. He seemed content to be placed there, and he lightly grazed on some trees and sprouted vegetation on the forest floor that were within reach. By Sandor's judgment the stallion was beginning to be underfed, so he ventured out to find more vegetation and bring it to him. To let him freely graze would be a terrible mistake, as the light of day was upon them. Thankful of the early hours, Sandor gathered as much as he could, and happened upon a small grove of wild pear trees. The fruit was under sized, and slightly hard, their taste was pleasing. Surely both Sansa and Stranger would benefit from the nourishment. He ate as he gathered, and brought enough back for everyone to share. Wild grasses were also available, and he returned to the grove several times so that his stallion was well fueled. They had such a long way to go, and they would have to find water again soon. The Isle of Faces had some tributaries weaving though; perhaps they would come upon one as they traveled. The day began to lighten and he decided to return to the shelter or to Sansa in truth. He thought of her last moments and he felt for her. Her sobs and weakness, and the way she fell into him. He wondered if he should have done more to console her. But what would he do? He hadn't the slightest knowledge of crying women. The real challenge was to hold himself back from doing what he really wanted. The floral smell of her hair had given him pleasing thoughts of the softness and weakness of women. It had been so long since he really touched a woman…or paid to have a woman touch him. He felt himself harden as he thought of the last whore he paid. She was on the softer side, and not so lean like most of the others. Her teats were large and soft, and he played roughly with her. What he wouldn't do for a big pair of soft teats to sleep in between tonight. His aching manhood relaxed as he thought of the stone bed he would sleep in, and he promised to find a wanting whore once he was able to settle somewhere.

_I'll do for a good raw fuck once we settle somewhere. I'll be jousting a wet cunt, maybe two. My idea of knight's play. _

He relieved himself in a thicket before going back to the shelter. He did not want to share his personal goings around his Little Bird where he could see his parts by chance. He did not want to scare her. Upon returning, he came intentionally by the direction of the road, just to see if the hiding place would be spotted from afar. The concealment was excellent. Even Stranger was undetected. He took the vertical climb with the last of his provisions that he had gathered and came up and around the outcrop. Upon reaching its rear, he heard and unusual sound. Stranger gave a low grunt as if he was aware of him. Sandor laid the bundle of foliage on the ground silently and his hand gripped the hilt of his sword.

_Seven Hells, the Little Bird has been found_- but then he heard the sound of…splashing? Like that of a small cask of ale being poured onto the rocks. And then he saw her, Sansa, several yards behind Stranger, crouched down in squatting style taking a motion to relieve herself. For a moment he was amused, then aroused. He saw the pale of her thighs, hunched into the squat with a little of her bottom out underneath her skirts. Her small clothes were gathered around her ankles and he thought they were very pretty. Her skin was so pale and beautifully lovely, the color of fresh cream. He lusted after what he saw. He almost burst into laughter when he saw her next motion, taking the small flask of water she cupped a bit in her hand and splashed it over her maiden parts rinsing her clean. Next, she took a bundle of dried grass she gathered before the ordeal patted herself dry with it.

_Women and their squats! It's nice to be a lad and just stand up and piss! Grass! Ha! _

He was thoroughly amused. He then caught a glimpse of a fiery red silken tuft in her center, and he breathed in, wishing he could smell its perfume. The silence he assumed was a masterful skill of his, and he continued to watch from afar. She stood up and brought her small clothes to cover herself once more, and washed her hands with the small flask of water she had saved from the river.

"Thank you for standing guard Stranger." She whispered, and tiptoed back into the shelter without a sound. Sandor contemplated whether he would stride in and tell her to never take a piss without telling him again, for her safety of course, but he did not want to feel like a prisoner. He hung back a few moments before entering the shelter. Special care was taken to make sure all was concealed behind him. His traveling companion was glad of his return and was happy that he did not catch her in such awkward exposure from only moments ago. "Morning is here. It is very important we stay inside. The whole kingdom may be looking for you, and ravens fly faster than any horse's stride."

"I understand my Lord" she replied trying to sound as focused as possible. She changed her tone when she realized she called him a Lord for the second time.

"My apologies ser."

He sat down on the floor directly in front her.

"Let me tell you about Sers and Lords Little Bird. They make oaths to gain titles and nothing more. Their titles mean nothing. They know nothing about honor and neither do I. I would disgrace myself even more by taking one of those bloody titles, and I carry enough rage about that for two men. I already told you, you'd be sick with a mere hint of all I'd done. Don't go on to fuel the fire. Now go and rest."

Sansa felt like a frightened fool. She had to do something, say something so he did not sense her inner fear.

"When do we leave again? Will it be soon?" she asked though eyes large and glazed over with tears. She would not lose and let them fall from her eyes.

"We only travel by the light of the moon for now. Once we are further away we can travel by day." His answer came gently. He was not fooled, not by those fear stricken eyes.

She turned her gaze away from him, and felt a bit of fear leeching in through her skin. His glare made her feel cold. It was best that she retreated to the bloody cloak for warmth. She moved to her pine bough bed, softened with the cloak beneath her. She lay down and wrapped herself in her crude refuge and tried to find the solace of sleep. She closed her eyes and smelled the cloak beneath her. It smelled of man. Not the perfumed lushness of pompous pawns that played their games in King's Landing. She slept in the scent of a hardened man, and in her opinion, the most real man she knows. The rest were nothing but shadows next to him, and for all of his fearsome presence and his iron will, she still felt safe with him. With that lingering thought, she drifted to sleep; long, deep and dreamless, with the dappling sunlight of day playing on her closed lids. She slept very well.

Sandor lay down towards the front of the shelter, but not very close to the edge as he did not want the sunlight to reflect off of his armor. That armor had become a second skin to him now, as if it were an extension of himself. He thought about what that meant and why he was so comfortable inside of it. Pondering his own feelings was a rarity but recent times had made him more in touch of the things he really wanted. He felt less and less of a dog each day, and was slowly figuring out what to do about his sudden emergence of feelings. Perhaps the armor's protection was not limited to his life, but expanded to his heart as well. For the longest time he had become callous about everything, from the mundane trials of life to the extraordinary happenings in the world. The life he lived was hard, cold and cruel, much like his own heart. It was hard to erase so many years of pain he had suffered through his formative years, although he would not regret it. Those days made him who he was today; a strong, hard, cunning killer; and if life had been any softer, he would not be able to protect her. She was his charge and her safety and ability to thrive suddenly became the measure of his manly contribution to her life. He was everything to her, and he was all she had. Feelings that revolved around her were always there, but now that the two of them were alone he felt solely responsible for all of her wants and needs. He was aware that his interactions with her had improved. For some reason the thought of her happiness came to the forefront of his existence. A flash in his heart led on to something he had never felt before. It left as soon as it came, like the spark of a flint on a cold rainy evening. What this was he could not tell. But he was sure that she gave him a purpose to fight in this world, and that was all he needed. Sleep descended upon him; his cause and course were clear.


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa woke with a start at the sound of Sandor's call. The sun had made its journey across the sky and was close to its resting place toward the western horizon. She slept so heavily, for almost twelve hours only waking to shift her sleeping pose. Her body ached from the long ride, and the pine bough bed became rough in the end. She felt every branch beneath her as she slept throughout the day. As she moved to raise herself from the ground, the throbbing in her bottom protested loudly, and she dreaded returning back to the saddle again. Sandor worked hurriedly to pack the stow of fruit, and to dismember the lean to so that no one who came to the area knew that a structure of some kind was left there to trace. Next was the pine bedding, which he had strewn throughout the resting surrounding area haphazardly. Stranger's waste was pushed over the edge of the outcrop as well and their concealment was complete. Darkness and the cold drew around them quickly as the sun had set, and the long road ahead welcomed them. There was a different smell in the air, and the chill had come earlier this eve than ever. Sansa found the crispness of the air pleasing. It brought fond memories of her family to her, and all was as if her lands were calling her home. She wrapped the bloody cloak around herself and her memories of Winterfell surged her onward. Sandor noticed that she had a contented air about her and she almost seemed happy.

"Sleep well Little Bird?" he asked, watching the contented expression on her face as she readied to mount Stranger.

"No, but it was fair. When I woke up I smelled the air and it reminded me so much of home."

"Yes Little Bird. It feels like winter is coming."

The words reverberated in her core and warmed her from the inside out.

_He said that for me._ Suddenly a light in her glowed like a single candle and she felt a small drop of joy. Sansa froze and looked at him with endearment. Sandor grew uncomfortable with the way her eyes studied him and he immediately wanted her to stop looking at him that way.

"Please Sandor…..say it again." She missed those words. She needed those words.

Sandor did not want to be her father figure. Absolutely not.

_Fuck the sorrow._

But deep down, he truly did feel sorry for her. Moreover, this was the first time she had really called him by his given name, the one his mother had chosen. For once in a long time he felt completely human and she was _so_ easy to pity. But pity yields no reward in this world, and he would not let her begin to think that her weakness had a place on the long road ahead.

"Climb into the saddle." He said forcefully. She did as he said, but regarded him even more softly and barely took her eyes off of him. His discomfort grew by the second, and he hastened to get into the saddle behind her. As the eve crept in, so did the chill. The leaves were crisper here, and it felt like the warm breezes that wisped through King's Landing were a world away, but Sandor was not fooled. They would travel all night like before and take refuge in the day. On the outskirts of Maidenpool were taverns and inns dotted here and there, homely structures that many did not frequent so deep in the wood. Sandor made sure he would make it a point to rest at one the most inconspicuous, and give the girl some well- deserved comfort, though it be crude. That was all he could give her, for now.

The colors of the night were once again upon them as they blurred through the wood as fast as Stranger could carry them. Sansa began to notice her legs again, the dull ache returned with a vengeance on her stretched limbs. Her hands were sore from holding on to the saddle for so many hours. Pain coursed through her body and she could hear her heart beat in synch with Stranger's stride. She felt weak, but she knew she was in good hands and that no matter how she felt, Sandor would never allow them to catch her. No, she would see her enemies die before that ever happened.

_He would kill them all for me. _She let that thought carry her on without complaint for the rest of the journey north. Sandor forced his stallion to press onward with fervor. The more distance they gained the less likely they were to be found, and his Little Bird would soon be home. Winterfell was a fortress in a vast country, and seldom did southerners go there. The expanse would pose difficult for a newcomer's bones.

Tributaries sprung here and there throughout the wood as Sandor predicted. The springs that ran through were cold and clean. The trio stopped to relieve and refresh themselves in silence all the way. Sansa seemed different than the night before, as if the further away from her captors she flew the more at ease she became. Sandor noticed this and did not want her to allow her mind to float away on silly whims. She was a fugitive of sorts and the whole kingdom may have been looking for her. At the latest stop, she dared to wander some yards away from her protectors, and Sandor thought this was extremely foolish. She looked at the scenery, and felt the urge to stretch her legs a bit more than usual. Sandor's gaze was completely focused upon her, and an unexpected fear crept into him behind his eyes and he strained his sight in the dark night to make sure he never lost track of her step. The fear of not seeing her there in the blink of an eye was too much for him to bear. He silently walked upon her, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

She turned in an unaccustomed state, half in fear and half satisfied that her sentry would not dare chance her slipping away from him.

"You must remain on your guard Little Bird. Nasty things in the night." He grimaced and her boldness melted away. She would not try to test him again and immediately returned to Stranger's side. The river's banks were wet with mosses and stones. Before Sansa mounted the stallion, Sandor strode over to the river bank to gather handfuls of moss. He then brought Sansa in front of him and turned her to face away and her back was to him. He brushed the moss onto the bloody cloak she wore, making it appear dirtier than it had been. Immediately she began to protest and he quickly hushed her with his piercing voice.

"Within the hour we will come upon a small hamlet that has an inn at which we will stay. Tell no one your name, and act like a low born girl. In fact, do not speak unless I give your permission, do you understand? We have ridden a long way and we cannot risk discovery. Keep that cloak on. And if anyone asks, your name is Lania. Lania Flowers, a poor wench from Highgarden."

The sound of the name turned Sansa's face to a crimson hue. Everything in her wanted to object, but she knew that it was best she comply. To assume the alias as a bastard child was a pure insult, and a complete disgrace to her entire being. But she would take it for now, as Sandor did know best. She actually liked the name Lania. It sounded light and very pretty. She wondered how he could even think of a name as pretty as that, and wanted to insult him just to get even.

"I am familiar with the names of the bastards of Highgarden, _my lord_," she said quietly.

He understood her game and could not let her win. He was insulted at being challenged by this stupid Little Bird and would find a way to bring her just a bit lower. He roughly gripped her hand and shoved the clump of moss forcefully into her palm.

"Make sure you get that pretty face." He seethed through clenched teeth. This time, she not dare reply. She only looked down at the moss in her hand holding back tears. Pinching off a piece of it, she gently dabbed its muddy bottom randomly on her face. She did this slowly as she watched him bring something out of one of the satchels that Stranger was wearing. He thrust an old ugly cloth into her face.

"Cover your hair." He instructed. "If you don't there 'ent no way we'll pass you off as a southern girl. The Tully is screaming out or your damned head." He was serious and Sansa knew it. Her hair was her mother's hair, a Tully gift of distinguishing her family tree from the next; that would at this time be a curse if it were discovered. Although reluctantly, she did as she was told and she angrily fumed the entire time as they rode silently into the night.

Lights in the distance. The warm glow of candles inside of windowpanes enchanted her eyes as the stallion galloped from afar. The pace was uplifting to her as they drew nearer to the new resting place. Sansa's heart lightened as she imagined hot food, a soft bed, a basin of hot water so that she may clean herself. Anything in any measure would be an upgrade from her rock shelter of the day before. She smiled with delight as their distance closed in. But as they were closely upon the Swiftwater Inn, her smile turned into barely a grin. It was hours before morning, but the appearance of the inn looked staggeringly poor, and she thought the light of day would do it no justice. Sandor thought this was the perfect place, the exact place where they could keep a low profile and avoid getting discovered easily. All he cared for was secrecy, good wine and a good fuck to say the least.

"Stay behind me and keep your eyes down as much as possible," he gruffly whispered, and in they went.

The inn was dark, and lit sparingly with candles on the tables and along a great hearth toward the front of the shabby inn. The long planks were haphazardly laid and they slanted downward. Sansa was unsure of whether or not the inn would fall over someday. It smelled of old rotten wood, smoke and bitter wine. Quite a few people were there despite the inn's appearance, men and women, and some ladies who were a little too friendly towards the men, in her opinion. She hated everything about it, save the smile on the round woman's face who greeted them.

"Welcome travelers," she smiled. "welcome to the Swiftwater Inn. That's me husband Landau and I am Helena," a thin man waved his arm in a dull fashion. From the look on his face, Sansa could tell that his wife always spoke of the tavern as if it were a castle. She was amused.

"Its quite a time before the light hours of morning Ser. Can I get you something? Food or lodging for you and yer..um…" she looked at Sansa a bit confused. She looked dirty and tired, and she had no idea why she was with him.

"Wench." He said very rudely. "Aye, we'll take last night's supper and some bread. Water for the girl, wine for me." He barked.

Helena was used to his types, all business and no more than that. "Do have a seat where you please," and she rushed off into the kitchens. "Tall flask of wine for the Ser," she whispered to her husband as she went to the back.

Sandor spotted a table close to the corner of the inn where there wasn't much of a crowd. He ushered Sansa quite harshly and she sat down, wanting to flash an angry look at him, but keeping in step with the role play. He sat on the outer edge of the table, with his eyes facing the front of the tavern so he may survey every sight and sound. There were no familiar faces here, and he was well within earshot of the nearest conversation. Sansa looked shyly around, careful not to stare into anyone's face for more than a moment. She felt scared even with Sandor next to her. Two of the women who were a bit too friendly with the other men looked in Sandor's direction, and they leaned in towards one another and began to whisper. Sansa looked at them and thought that they were pretty in a rugged kind of way. When they talked they spoke with wide sultry eyes and graced their collar bones with their fingertips often. One of them had rounded large breasts that here barely held inside of her dress and corset she wore, and she leaned forward while talking, right into Sandor's view. Sansa thought of her own bosom, how slight and still budding it was, and wondered if it would ever grow any softer than it was now. She hoped that by the next red flower she would have a bit more to show. How she found that thought a delight. She continued to look on as the women laughed at mundane jests and made sure to connect with Sandor's eyes from time to time.

"Here we are," Helena bounded toward the table with two large bowls of stag and barley stew, crust bread and some hard cheese. Sansa's daydream of breasts was interrupted by the lovely smell of the stew. Presently, the cask of wine was placed on the table in front of Sandor, who gifted the inn keepers with a golden coin. The keepers' eyes lit up at the golden piece and were eager to give them whatever they wanted. Sandor had begun the order without them asking.

"Two rooms, hers next to mine at the end of the row. A basin of hot water for her." Sandor's eyes flashed to the two flirtatious ladies and came back to Helena. "An extra cask of wine for me."

"Certainly, Ser" she rushed to one of the ladies in the pair and whispered to her. Sansa watched as she drew a shawl around her and readied herself to leave when Sandor called at the larger woman with the soft bosom, "You too." She nodded and gave some terrible curtsey and lustful eyes. The two retreated up the stairs together. Sansa's look turned from intrigue to disbelief laced with intrigue.

_Two ladies with him? What could possibly happen with them? Am I sleeping alone in this place? Who will protect me?_ Her mind wandered with uncertainty, and she forgot the hot meal before her.

"Eat girl." Sandor spoke in between mouthfuls of the hot soup and large gulps of the bitter wine. Sansa did remember how she wanted to eat and began to sip her meal slowly. The previous event slipped away from her as she savored the textures set before her. She was warmed by the soup and enjoyed its last drop, soaking it up with a piece of crusty bread before devouring it. The cheese was sharp and the pungent taste of it swirled over her tongue. The entire meal was satisfying. Sandor had quickly finished his eagerly and he wanted to waste no time before enjoying the last of his wine. As he drank, he honed in on a conversation a few tables over. A rugged man, who looked like a Northerner was sitting with his legs up on the table. His mate, a Riverlander sat next to him with a lady on his lap. As he spoke he stroked her bottom in a mischievous way.

"Me father told me of that old Frey. Damned two headed snake he is. Said a crow was sent by his cousin up north. That whole line was cursed, those Starks. Lord Ned took great care o'me famly up there too. The whole lot of em's been cursed. First Ned, then those two girls o'er in King's Landin, heard someone raped and killed the older one, found blood all o'er the room!"

"Bloody hell mate!" chimed in the other. That fuckin' Lord Frey. Sorry we's served his famly over the years. He burned our crop one year after we 'ent have enough to supply the Lord. But it 'ent nothin' compared to what he did to that Stark boy and his Mum!"

"Aye, Lady Stark 'ent do a thing ta deserve dyin' like that. The boy neither! Sewed the damned wolf's head on to his body! I'd ve chopped off me own hands fore I did that! Curses don't care how they take ya. They just do." And they slipped into silence and stared at their flasks of ale.

Sandor looked at Sansa. She was trembling, holding back the tears. It was time to usher her out.

"Come on Little Bird." he whispered to her with a gentle voice. Helen met them on their way to the stairs and she handed the keys to Sandor.

"Terrible tales from afar Ser," she said. There was a marked sadness in her voice and then she suddenly perked up as she snapped back into being a hostess. "An extra cask for the Ser and hot water for the lady. Top of the stairs, the only two up there." She looked at Sansa and saw tears streaming down her face. Helena looked at Sandor with pleading eyes. "A favor for the girl Ser?" Sandor nodded his approval and she reached into the front pocket of her apron and retrieved a small key. "The top level has a proper washroom, looks just like a closet. Just leave the key on the basin an' you can use it till you go." Helena smiled warmly at Sansa, who smiled back through a dirty, tear streaked face. Sandor took the key from her and placed another gold coin into the woman's palm.

"For your kindness," he said. There was an understanding between them both that also implied thanks for her silence as well. The two of them nodded their silent understanding, and as Sandor let Sansa up the creaky stair, the woman looked and saw a fiery red tendril beneath the scarf that bound the young girl's face.

_A Lady in the guise of a lowly._ _There is hope for this realm after all._

She smiled to herself. Their secret was safe.

Sansa crashed into a pile on the floor of her room, and sobbed until the breaths of her sadness choked her. She coughed and gagged, and Sandor swiftly turned to lock the door behind them. Her grief flooded her entire body. All hope had left her and she knew for the first time that she was truly alone. Her whole family had been killed, one after the other. Who knows where Arya was, and Sansa supposed her dead. Sandor looked at her. She was completely broken and he felt her pain. Robb Stark would have been the best protector for her, and now he was out of options. Sure he could bring her to the Erye, but the whole of the kingdom knew that Lysa Tully had gone mad, and he would not risk placing her in the hands of a definite danger. All he could do was figure out a new plan, but that would have to wait.

He picked her up from the floor with strong yet gentle hands and carried her to her bed. He sat her there, and took a seat next to her. Her sobs shook her whole body again, and he reached around her and pulled her into his armor, trying to keep her still. Perhaps the armor could protect them both.

"Why Sandor? Why is the world filled with such hate? Did the gods ever have mercy upon me or my family?" she sobbed ever so loudly.

Sandor had his own feelings about both gods and men, but decided to keep them to himself.

"Of course they do Little Bird. Men did this to your family. Not the gods. You may not be able to ask them to bring your family back to you, but you may ask them for peace and to make your heart still."

She looked at him with red, tear-soaked eyes.

"Do not fear Little Bird. I will always be with you, despite what the world may bring. I will fight the hate and slay the nightmares. I am your sworn shield. I will stay by your side."

With those words, she cried hard, so much that she was exasperated. He wiped her tears and gave her the small key that Helena gave to him.

"Sit here while I take our belongings and put Stranger in the Stables." She sat on the bed and he locked the door on the way out of the room. Stranger was glad to see him. The horse knew his rider very well and had a sense of something awry. In truth, Sandor experiences a range of feelings, and mused over them as stranger was housed within the stalls at the inn. A fresh bale of grass and a large basin of water were there to greet him, along with some vegetable scraps from the day's cooking. Sandor looked on I appreciation as his stallion contentedly settled in. With the meager comforts of this place, and the simple kindness and sworn secrecy that Helena had shown, Sandor decided to extend their stay until he could map the road ahead from here. Thinking about the events sparked anger in him, but he had an outlet this time. Dessert was waiting in his room, and he rushed back to give Sansa her personal effects.

Upon entering the room she was found sitting as he had left her. He gave her the key to the room this time and walked with her down the hall. There were only three doors on the top level, their rooms side by side and then what looked like a little closet was across the hall. The small key unlocked the door, and they found a large and beautifully lit washroom. A large metal tub was all the way filled with water, on which lavender flowers were floating at the top. Candles lined the stone shelves and the entire room was fragrant. Dried flowers hung from lace netting here and there on the walls, and their petals infused the room with a floral, romantic flavor. On a bench near the tub were plenty of plush towels for her to use when her bath was done. Sansa set her traveling satchel down on the bench and turned to Sandor.

"This is beautiful," she said. He could see that a little of her sorrow had subsided, at least for now. He wondered at the lovely room and realized that the kind woman had intended it for her all along. Though a small basin was located within Sansa's room, there were no bathing implements as there were in here. It was obvious that this washroom was Helena's own private gem, probably something her husband had made for her as a symbol of love. He came to the conclusion that Helena knew who Sansa was all along, and he trusted her to keep it in confidence.

"Take all the time you need. You will be safe here," he said in a confident voice and turned and went out of the door.

Sansa undressed and lowered herself into the hot water. Slowly the pain was leaving her; the lavender washed it away.

As Sandor approached his room, he could hear the two whores conversing. He opened the door and on his bed sat the two women, both very different but equally beautiful in their own ways. The first one was completely bare with dark silky brown in her hair. She was the taller of the two, and she had long brown hair that cascaded down to her waist. "I am Willow Ser, I am here to serve you," she said with glassy eyes of wine and passion. "And I am Moreen. We are here to please you." The other was more fully figured, and wore a short petticoat that was raised up to her belly in an attempt to shield her plumpness. Her dark, almost black hair framed her shoulders, and her large breasts looked enticingly soft to Sandor. After clutching hard steel and reins for the past three months, he was ready to feel something soft and warm beneath his fingertips. He stiffened at the sight of her large areolas and wanted to taste them. His armor stopped him from reaching his full potential.

"Both of you get up and take this fucking armor off of me." He said with his voice deep and low. He was the Hound now, Sandor was nowhere to be found. "And take that fucking rag off of your waist! I want to see what I paid for." The ladies came up to him and began to untie his armor at all of his unreachable points. They stroked the unburned side of his face and gave soft moans of pleasure as he squeezed and groped them as they worked. When his armor was off, his manhood became as hard as ever and all of his length stood upward as he throbbed. But he would delay the plunge, as he wanted this to last. He removed his tunic to reveal a large barreled chest covered with thick dark hair from the top, at his collar bone over his stomach, leading a trail down below his navel. Scars of previous clashes and victories were embedded beneath the curly expanse, and deep, thick muscles showed through. His arms were like the boughs of a mighty oak, and brought the tall Willow close to him. Her body pressed up against him and he could feel that she was growing warm with desire. He grabbed her chin and forcibly pulled her toward him in a rough deep kiss. He opened his mouth after pressing his lips after some time and let his tongue explore her mouth. She returned the kiss and sucked on his tongue, moving her lips to and fro as if it were a shaft. Sandor let out a deep groan as his pleasure heightened and wanted more.

"Let us see what you can do with the real thing."

He broke away and forced Willow to her knees with the task of unlacing his breeches. He then pulled Moreen close to him now, kissing her deeply while kneading her breasts in both hands. He moved his hands in great circles, pulling and pinching her taut nipples with his large fingers and then with his teeth. He licked and sucked with fervor and she gasped in both pleasure and pain at his work. As he stepped out of his breeches, the women moved backward and retreated to the bed at what they saw. He straightened and stood in all of his male glory, quite proud of the reaction he saw as the women eyed his massive pike, heavily veined and throbbing, jutting upward in time with the wild beat of his heart. The two sat on the edge of the bed and he thrust his manhood between them and they worked the task at hand, embellishing kisses all over his massive shaft from the hilt to the tip, neither one of them being able to close their lips around him as eagerly as they tried. The Hound twisted his massive hands in the tow heads of hair, and moved back and forth, watching the women do the best they could with their lips and tongues. A slick drop of silken nectar oozed from the head of his stiffness and he could hold back no longer….

Sansa savored her last moments in the large metal tub. She had relaxed and every limb was thankful for being immersed in the hot water. She thought a lot, mostly about what would become of her now that her family had perished. Thoughts of her days in Winterfell filled her head, of the love her Mother and Father showed towards one another, watching her brothers grow up together and learning how to be men, of Old Nan and her scary stories that would keep her awake at night, her friends she had made. She missed them all and thought that if she hadn't wanted to be a queen so badly, that her family would still be alive. Her father never would have accepted being the hand of the king and her mother would be brushing her hair still, preparing her to marry a real man who was gentle and kind, willing to do everything he could to love and protect her. A man like Sandor.

Thinking of him made her hasten to end the bath for she wanted to be in bed and under his protection. Her hair and skin smelled of lavender and she was a lovely walking bouquet of fresh and gentle romance. She walked in front of a full length mirror to admire her reflection. She looked at her tall, slight body, the gentle sloping shoulders framing her small breasts, down to her lovely flat stomach which lay in between a small swell of hips below her waist. She thought of the other women she had seen earlier and compared herself to them. Her attention went to the silky red down that covered her center part, and thought of what music they would be making with Sandor. The thought of this made her a bit sad, but he did not belong to her. Not completely. She decided to dress into her shift, gathered her belongings and let the water out of the large tub, thankful for the little gem.

Making her way down the hall, laughter and moaning could be heard. She was embarrassed and quickly entered her room and closed the door swiftly. The sounds were only amplified as the adjoining wall left nothing to the imagination….

Willow lay on her back while Sandor squeezed in and out of her, filling her with every stroke of his length. Though she was experienced and had many kinds of men, she had never been touched by a man so large, and she ached with sweet pleasure and was breathless because of the pain all at once. Her sweet cries filled the room and surged the Hound onward, delivering full blows into her, driving her to the edge of ecstasy and tears. Moreen kneeled next to him, kissing him deeply with her writhing tongue as he squeezed her breasts hard.

Sansa could not bear keeping herself in the bed, and the sounds of pleasure in the next room forced to come and lay an ear on the wall to listen. A floorboard squeaked loudly as she tiptoed to the wall. She froze immediately and shifted her weight to the other foot and then quickly yet silently bounded to rest an ear on the pale divide. She listened intently as the sound of heavy breath and slapping skin filled her head. She could hear Sandor groan over and over, and the sound made butterflies stir in her belly. She enjoyed the sound of his growling very much and wanted to hear more.

He pulled out of Willow and motioned for Moreen to take her place, but this time he wanted her on all fours. He was a dog, ready to fuck his bitch and make her howl like she never had before. Moreen hesitated, the sopping wet pike looked ominous to her. The Hound reached down and turned her hips to flip her over stomach down, and pulled her ass toward him as he stood at the edge of the bed. Willow massaged him and ran her hands up and down his chest, exploring the mass of manly hair from his chest down to his abdomen. The Hound ran his fingers up and down the waiting entrance in front of him and buried himself deep down to the hilt of his massive length on the first stroke. A kill strike it was, and Moreen was filled deeper than she ever had been before. He reached into places she never knew were there and she closed her eyes tightly at the blinding pleasure that washed over her body. A loud moan escaped her, and the Hound began to fuck her long and hard. He tangled his fist in her hair with one and drove his fingers into Willow with the other. Both women were screaming with pleasure as he moved in and out of them so skillfully.

Sansa wondered what was happening as both women's cries climbed to what seemed like a deafening crescendo. Once again, a deep rumbling groan escaped from Sandor and the sound of it coursed a silken wetness to escape from Sansa's lower lips. The rush alarmed her, and she was unsure if her moon flow had come early. She touched the area to see if her red flower had bloomed, but all she could see was a silky dew that drew like honey when she pulled her thumb and forefinger apart. It was hot and she did not understand it. That would have to wait though, for she would not let her curiosity keep her from listening and she pressed her ear back to the wall to hear more.

The Hound was driven beyond immense pleasure. He deserved this. The smell of sex, sweat and wine perforated the room and his senses were sharper than ever as he was immersed in the body beneath him. He loved the way Moreen looked as he dominated her, the moans of pleasure intertwined with the grimacing pain of her beautifully twisted face. He pulled out large honey laced fingers from deep inside of his other whore. As he thrust the wet fingers into Willow's mouth the clean off her essence, her eyes and eagerness filled him with passion and he stroked Moreen's insides with increasing friction. He watched her breasts move in circles as he wildly drove into her. She arched and lowered her back onto the bed, clamped down on his iron sword. She writhed against him and her thighs trembled as the waves of bliss surged through her over and over again. The hot flood surrounded him like liquid gold, and his pleasure was thrown beyond its peak. He pulled out of her and quickly turned her around. His chest expanded and head threw back as he grabbed Willow by the neck pulling her close to his throbbing shaft. All of his anger, all the frustration and the fucking penned up rage that was in him was expulsed in a single moment as they enticed a roar of pleasure that came from the deep seat of his manhood and left streams of silver all over the faces and lips of the women. He groaned over and over again, sending shockwaves through Sansa's body, so deep that she had stopped breathing as she listened to her sentry. As his growls of pleasure died down, Sansa caught her breath and became very aware of her honey-coated thighs.


	5. Chapter 5

The room was full of breathy gasps as everyone recovered from the sexy fervor. Sprawled on the bed with his legs wide lay the Hound, his chest heaving with accomplishment. To the delight of the two women, he had playfully left them two silver coins each, one atop each pleasingly sore nipple. "Get out and close the fucking door." He said with a satiated smile. They threw on their robes and rose to exit the room. Wild-haired, exhausted and glowing they left, but not before Moreen turned over her shoulder and gave a savoring lick of her lips still laced with the Hound's silver rain. It was him who needed to be paid, for he gave them the fuck of a lifetime. As the door closed he heard an odd sound to his left, an incredibly loud squeaking floorboard through the wall. He sat upright into a dizzying haze, but then dismissed it, thinking the old inn was too creaky to hold any secrets except for one. He remembered the lovely washroom down the hall and decided that it would be a good time for him to bathe. Being covered in sex and grime were not a trouble for him, but he would not pass up the opportunity to use the resources at hand. He opened the door to listen and silently continued down the hall to the washroom. The metal tub was too small for him to sit down it in, but the hot water that poured forth was well received. He used a clay water pitcher to pour the hot water over himself as he stood and washed, relaxing and thinking of Sansa the whole time.

_The Little Bird must be sleeping. She has been tortured enough by the news of today._

But it was not her sorrow that tortured her this time.

Sansa had rushed back to bed in an attempt to cover her eavesdropping. Her thighs slipped silkily together as she moved toward the far side of the bed. She heard Sandor's door open and close and was impressed that he checked on her. With the two women gone, they were the only people on the top level and she felt safe. Their voices replayed in her mind, echoing the music of passion she heard in the brothel at King's Landing and her stomached jumped when she thought of how Sandor sounded through the wall. She squeezed her thighs together tightly, to feel the wetness between them. A tingle erupted in her center and she slowly raised her hips off of the bed. Another thought of Sandor's deep voice moved her and intensified the tingle below. Her eyes closed, and she crossed one leg over the other, intensifying the lovely pressure she felt. She had a craving for something she could not describe, and suddenly felt the urge to sit upon something to see if she could create more of the lovely pressure. When she rose from the bed, she saw that the honey dew had seeped through the front of her shift where she had crossed her legs before and marked her with sweet perfume. She lifted the shift and breathed the gentle fabric in. When her eyes closed, she suddenly snapped awake.

_What am I doing? I am a Lady! Not some Highgarden servant girl. I don't care if I have to play at it. These thoughts must leave my head right now! Right now!_

She wanted to rush down to the washroom and clean herself. She was embarrassed at the stain that was draped in front of her, and even more, ashamed of letting her thoughts get carried away. She could not believe that she had wasted such time dreaming of such indulgent things when her mind should have been focused on the loss of her family. Thoughts of what Sandor said at the riverbank about such feelings crept into her mind and eased her self-loathing. She dimly understood how these feelings can make you forget; that these feelings truly do remind you feeling alive when all else is dead around you. She pondered for a moment, holding her hands together softly to calm her conflicted mind. The urge to wash these thoughts away would be capitalized if she actually did so. She wanted to drown this flame, and in a rush towards the door, she unintentionally knocked over a chair that was close to the dressing table. The crash pierced the silence and tensed her whole body. She wondered if the noise had broken Sandor out of a pleasant dream.

Upon hearing the crash while coming out of the washroom, Sandor silently rushed to Sansa's door. His greatest fear may have been realized, that she had been harmed after he had let his guard down. As he lifted a hand force the door, it opened. To Sansa's wide-eyed shock, Sandor stood there, ready to attack the thing that disturbed her. He leaned in urgently, then before speaking charged into the room. Sansa's embarrassment was multiplied, and she pleated her shift in front of her so that he could not see the stain on her clothing. Finding nothing, he tried to justify his cause for alarm.

"What troubled you Little Bird? Stealing away?" he asked urgently.

"N-no!" she gasped. "I just….the wash room…" she stammered. She had to hide her nervousness if she was going to play this off as nothing.

"How could I steal away in a night dress?" She waited, and tried to look slightly amused. Secretly she listened to the sound of his voice. It made her vibrate inside. A daydream cast before her eyes like a veil of smoke, as if the lavender in her bath intoxicated her once more. She wanted to hear him in the throws of pleasure, just to hear him sigh and groan. Her feet shifted as she did her best to suppress the thought. Sandor took notice of a faint smile behind her eyes and was curious about the way she awkwardly clutched her dress. He straightened and knew she was hiding something.

"Hurry on then!" it was almost a shout, and most definitely an order. "I will stand watch here until you return."

She took her leave and quickly went to the washroom to clean the evidence that was upon her.

Sandor walked around the room, taking special care to move quietly in case something had frightened his companion. Other than the chair which looked like it had been knocked out of place, all appeared to be well. As he moved toward the bed, he crouched down to look under it, almost laughing at himself for imagining there could be danger there. With a hand rested on the edge of the bed, he attempted to raise himself, but he caught a particular scent and he allowed his hand to linger on the edge. He felt a flood of warmth rush through him as the sweetness of a most unique scent that he knew so well filled his nose and set his heart aflame. He felt a stir in his loins as he drew in a second breath, this time much deeper, and he slowly closed his eyes. A sinister smile crept across his face with the realization that his Little Bird was showing the needs of a woman, and he no longer thought of her as a stupid girl. He rose quickly, and did not want Sansa to return to find him in such a position. With a giant stride to the wall, he stepped upon a plank that made an extremely loud creak. He turned behind him and realized that this was the sound he heard when the ladies left the room. Instinct told him to crouch down to her height level and smell the wall. The Hound caught the telling scent of lavender. Moments passed as he reveled in his memory, at the experience he had bestowed upon the women. He pressed his ear against the wall. He could only imagine what she thought about all that she had heard, and his manhood stiffened at the thought of what she could have been feeling and the sensation he drew from her. Apparently he had primed her lusciously wet with just the sound of his voice, making her precipitate sweet nectar whose scent traced back to her bed linens. What he would give to bury his face into the covers to inhale the lovely musk one last time. He smiled broadly, but suppressed all emotion when he heard the washroom door close.

_She needs time._

Thinking of her age and her innocence snapped him back into reality, but he would be sure to make some jest out of his new appreciation for her curiosity. In a flash he assumed the role of her protector once again, but made sure not to leave the place in which he stood. He wanted to see the reaction on her face when she saw that her naughty escapade was discovered.

Sansa walked in and froze when she saw where Sandor stood. Her face flushed crimson and she was unable to move.

"Come in and close the door Little Bird. You _must not ever_ leave your door open. As your protector, I must always tell you that you must be safe," he said, making his voice extremely gruff and low. He knew she was on the edge, not knowing whether or not her secret had been revealed. She closed the door, but could only stare in silence at him. He then moved toward her slowly, making sure to step onto the creaky floorboard. The squeak pierced the room, eliciting a wince from Sansa. She felt so embarrassed that her face was becoming hot. He walked toward the door painfully slowly and passed her. With a hand on the door, he kept his eyes on her, making her feel aware of her entire being. She breathed nervously, and he wanted to let her off of her thrill and let her rest for the night.

"It is almost morning. Do your best to regain your strength. I will bring food to your room later. You do not need to come down unless I ask for you. This is best Little Bird." He spoke slowly, drawing out every word, making her lasting sensations electrify her body.

_Why must he sound like that? Gods, does he know? Say something, you stupid girl! Anything!_

"I agree," she said nervously and looked at the floor. "Thank you for keeping watch over me."

He stood outside of the door, his entire body filling the frame and blocking out the light from the hall.

"I am sworn to protect you. You will always have trust in me. If you need anything… " He paused to make sure she looked at him. When she looked up, in the lowest raspy whisper he simply said. "…just tap on the wall." He did not wait. He closed the door, and she rushed to slide the lock into place. Her stomach twisted into a knot, and she understood this game he played.

_He is so, so cruel! So cruel, like all men! I hope I never see those ladies again! _She kept in mind that there was a chance that they knew she heard everything as well. What would they think when they saw her again? She thought that all the singing they did was done purposely to disturb her, not realizing that it was all pure pleasure. It did not take long for her embarrassment to turn into anger. Too tired to fume over it any longer, she briefly smiled at herself instead, like a young thief who had made their first steal of a trinket when no one was looking. She retired to the bed and would force herself to sleep while the sky was still dark, but found that morning had almost arrived. The world would be there to face again tomorrow, and she could tell she would need all of her rest and resolve to do so. As she lay by the window, the light of dawn crept slowly from the east with hues of lavender in the sky. She would not forget this night.

A fitful sleep it was. From the third level of the Inn could be heard the bustle of the day. Occasionally, Sansa would hear the cheerful laugh of Helena as she charmed guests in her imaginary castle. She marveled at her for a moment. Wondering how someone with little could be so happy. The sound of that laugh briefly calmed the heart of the broken and frustrated girl. It reminded her too much of her home in Winterfell. There were plenty of people just like her in the area, with their little lives and little families, and it was her family, the Starks who made them smile. She was truly torn in two, swaying between the sadness of her slaughtered family and the uncertainty of the future in a world in which she was alone. Where would she go? Who would know her, love her, be of her blood? She did not know Arya's whereabouts and even that gave her some comfort. At least she had not heard that she was dead. Waking the fine line of depression and fear were becoming tiring for her, her feet slipping off of the jagged edges of both and landing into a pit of darkness every time she lost her sound resolve.

_Does the darkness ever end? _

She sat up in bed, and looked outside of the small window. All she could see was mist and nothing more. In her mind she knew that she must try to sleep longer. In truth she had only dozed for a couple hours because there was something great stirring inside, building up to height that was dangerous. It was great, and black, like a terrible wave rolling from the horizon gathering strength before it would come crushing down upon her spirit. Her arms closed in upon herself and with her knees drawn into her chest. She felt so small. Slowly she rested her head upon them, breathed deeply and began to cry. She hugged her knees tighter, with a self-embrace intended to chase the sorrow away, but in only made it deeper, for she wished those arms were her mother's. She was a child and a woman in the same, with feelings and thoughts that no one would ever understand. Growing up alone in the world makes the days greyer though the sun shines, and the nights colder though the bed covers be warm. She needed love, the only elixir for this type of sorrow. There was only one set of arms for her. Sandor was all she had now, and she decided that if he was to be her only friend and person in the world that she had to depend on, that she would try to be kinder to him. She thought of him as the kind one, as for all he had done for her at King's Landing he had given her ounces of care and pride, even though she was decimated in her heart. She wanted to do the same for him. She had been so ungrateful. In her desperation, she began to miss him. The events of the night before had been washed away by morning tears. Her sobs deepened and her shoulders shook. She tried to let the pain pour proudly, quietly and daintily like she had been taught, but the saliva choked her. She tried to breathe through the pain, but her snot suffocated her. The tears were supposed to trickle down like the morning dew on the petal of a white rose, but they poured burning salt water on a flushed and reddened landscape. She was no Lady now, just a mere woman in pain. A sturdy knock on the door did not move her. She did not care who saw her like this. For the first time, she felt pure and true and she would not hide it.

Sandor grew too impatient and did not bother to knock a second time. He unlocked the door with the spare key he was given and stormed in with a plate of food. When he saw her in her state, silence took him, and he immediately went to her side. He said nothing. He did not need to. He gently took her hands and slowly unlaced them from around her knees. Gentle hands peeled her wet face off of the soaked shift, and a strong arm stretched around her and brought her in. She did not know how to thank him so she did not try. The slowed breath she drew and the silencing of her tears as he held her were more than enough.


	6. Chapter 6

For what seemed like hours were merely long minutes as he watched the figure below him. She had stretched a limp arm across him and looked peaceful as she slept. A myriad of feelings running through him coerced a deep sigh of awe, of what drove him to usher to her so willingly, to provide loving comfort and help to give her what she needed so desperately. He was rough, calloused, abused and indignant, yet his stone heart clad in layers of iron trembled when he thought of her. The very wonder of this Little Bird protected in his arms made him feel deeply for the first time, and if he had sorrow for her before, it only deepened, and gave him a sense of a foreign sentiment; fear. For all of the days and nights he thought of her being at the mercy of her captors, the disheveled girl was no longer a character she portrayed here on the road, but she had become it, wrought with sorrow and emotion, and only he could kill the nightmares for her. He knew that he would always yield, give, protect and now comfort her, for it was now well known that his strong arms meant safety from the terrible world. He thought back to his own childhood, when his mother and sister were taken from him. That very monster ripped itself out of the trenches of a nightmare and came in the guise of Sandor's own flesh and blood. His life was terrible, and the presence of that ever clouded his thoughts would know by now of their escape. If not for Stranger, they would still be in the south, great beast he was, carried them half way north.

Sandor doubted the route. Surely with no family able to keep her safe, it would not be best to even go anywhere near Winterfell. If he turned back south, this may be treacherous until they could reach Highgarden, but what then? Where would his Little Bird be safe? The whole world wanted the both of them dead, and save for this little Inn, there was no place that would ever be safe enough for her. He would need another day to decide, and let her rest and regain her strength before another grueling ride. His thoughts then turned to Stranger, and felt that he must see to him. Sandor gently removed his strong arm from around the sleeping girl and lay her down gently upon the pillows. She did not stir, and to his amusement, what seemed like a childish smile spread across her beautiful pouty lips. Satisfied with her deep breaths, he lifted himself off of the bed and silently walked over to the chair stationed at the dressing table and rested it beside the bed. The food he brought in the morning was already cold, but he knew that after such an exhausting outpour of emotion, the food would be a welcome comfort. As he rested the plate on the seat, he looked at her one final time before exiting the room and locking it behind him. Sandor's eyes swept the tavern as he descended the stairs. Every face within was unfamiliar, raggedly poor, and no threat to their safety. They shuddered when their eyes fell upon his hooded cloak, and they nervously turned their attention elsewhere. His foreboding appearance was precisely intended, that no one may look upon him in recognition, but only in fear. Upon passing the front of the inn, he curtly sent a nod at Helena, who smiled back warmly. Though he did not acknowledge it, he was very aware of the pair of lustful eyes that stung him as he walked toward the door.

The stables, as creaky as they were, were dry and well suited for his mount. Stranger appeared to contentedly graze on the hay that was freshly supplied, and did not mind when his master came to look at his hooves to make sure they were in the best possible condition before they would have travel once more. "Long ways to go, friend." Whispered Sandor as he brushed the contented Stranger, his short velvety coat dragging smoothly against the brush bristles. Despite the long way and many dangers Stranger had trod, his coat always had a proud shimmer, scarred yes, but un-weathered. His slender ears peaked and he gave a deep breath of warning. Sandor stood from his crouch and looked over his shoulder. He could see the wench Moreen walking toward the stables, as he anticipated. Apparently she had removed her small clothes from the waist up. Her full breasts gently swayed like skins of wine beneath her light tunic, and rolled at the rhythm of her feet.

"I hope you don't mind some quick company," Sandor looked at Stranger, and received a quick snort as the stallion lowered his head and happily returned to his meal of grass and grain. The Hound turned toward the stable entrance to meet the hot woman marching through the door. Her exasperated appearance and flushed cheeks only made the bulge in his breeches swell even more as the heat of the friction between her legs wafted over to his nose and charged his manhood to a stiffened pulse from below.

"Leaving so soon?" said Moreen, her lustful eyes staring directly at his bulge and not lifting to his eyes to look at him straight on at all. A flicker of anger washed over the hound for a moment as Moreen objectified him. He knew she did not want to lay her eyes upon his heavily scarred face and directed her eyes to an object more pleasing. He would use her for that insult. He took a wide stance so she could see his bulge clearly and even forced her focus more as he moved his right hand to caress his center.

"Mind your business wench. I see you found no stiffer cock than mine. Look at you, following me around like a bitch in heat." His words enticed a sigh from her, and to his liking, she began to undress with her eyes still lowered as he stroked his thick pike through his breeches. His rough fingers formed around the thick girth and he squeezed himself tightly, just so that the veins that ran down the massive shaft could almost be seen. As she salivated at the sight of him, she did not notice the leather strap that wound around his left fist. "Turn around and undress. I want to see that soft round arse of yours," he breathed. Without question, she seductively turned her back, and untied her tunic, letting it fall to straw-hewn floor. She kneaded her large breasts for a bit and then ran her graceful hands down her full belly. She untied her skirts and revealed a light petticoat, beautiful and layered with fine softness and detail. The Hound thought this garment a bit too pretty for a common whore, and detested her appearance in it. She lowered it gingerly to reveal her small clothes, also unusually beautiful for someone such as her, but he strangely admired its delicacy as the crochet was in fact lovely. Dashing these thoughts aside, he silently moved behind her as she caressed her full behind for him. He unwrapped the leather strap from his fist and abruptly moved it over her head, pulling it tautly across her delicate throat, still showing marks from their previous tousle. Seeing the fading bruises spurned him on, as he remembered his hand across her throat as he pounded into her from above. Moreen gasped at the feel of the strap on her neck, and was walking the line of both pleasure and fear. She trembled as her hot cunt began to weep. She was hoping that he would like her freshly perfumed center. It glistened for him so badly. It ached her while she fantasized about his heavy stroke delving into her where no other man had. Waking up to silky sheets since he left her last was all she dreamed about, and she delighted to light spasms almost every night.

He pulled her backward toward the stalls near the end of the stables. His cloak would shield them enough, and after all why would he care if anyone walked in. They all knew who she was and knew her job well. He grabbed her hair and roughly pulled backward, forcing a kiss upon her ruby lips, his tongue licking hers, almost reaching her throat. She opened her mouth and let him explore as far as he wished. She was a willing partner in his desire, so long as he fucked her long, hard and deep like he did the time before. Little did she know, he had something in store for her, something he'd never tried, and always wanted to, for fear that he would break the woman with whom he attempted it. But he knew she could take him, from how deep he was inside of her. He did not care that she may be in pain, but was sure it would be the best pain she would never forget.

She felt her back against the post and rail of one of the stables. The Hound laid hard kisses all over her as he moved around to the front of her, gripping her wrists and looping the long strap around them. He stretched her arms overhead and tightly secured them to the post, allowing her breast to swing freely before her. She felt exposed and it excited her. She could feel the delicate skin of her areolas pull as her nipples puckered to their new master, begging to be touched. His calloused hands held the weight of her breasts, and he lifted the heavy moons of flesh from below and let them spill over his grip. As he watched them fall free, Moreen's whole body flushed, and her arousal spread all over her, making her glow in the dark corner of the stables. The Hound very lightly touched the pouting nipples with the faintest touch of his fingertips and she arched her back toward him, eagerly wanting more. But he denied her, and brought the long strap to hang warmly between her fleshy globes. He stood back and watched her, and she flushed even more. He could feel the heat radiating from her, and her breath swirled some stray strands of her dark hair from her lips. She ached for him, and he could smell it, warming his desire despite the autumn chill. He wanted the whole stable filled with her scent and swiftly moved to complete his work. He wrapped the strap under her breasts, lifted her knee into the air, stretching her leg upward to the highest rail on the stall. Moreen hopped on one leg, fearfully balancing for what was about to come, knowing what _she_ would become, a pleasure hole, to be used, to be pounded, to be filled to the brink with both pleasure and pain. She did her best to hide her excitement at her wet dreams fulfilled, but her cunt would give her away, as her honey poured in glistening tears from her extended center, which did not go unnoticed by her handler. As he completed tying her leg to the rail, he brought his hand down toward the dripping entrance and buried two large fingers inside of her, touching her ever so deeply inside, at the midpoint where all pleasure gathers, tickling her center into a heated pant that she could not subdue. He watched her eyes roll to the back of her head, watched the breath escape her mouth in sharp gasps, as he skillfully rocked the thick fingers over the center of her love, sending shockwaves throughout her body until she felt like she would lose her balance. He then quickly withdrew his dripping fingers and shoved them firmly into her waiting mouth…..

She woke up after so much crying, exhausted, as if she had been crying for days. She felt like a child again, like she had been hurt time and time again but was unable to fix herself. A lot of time was spent wondering about the life she had taken. Why did she want to be a Queen so badly in the first place? Who ever said that being a Queen was the best thing a woman could ever be? The questions about royalty spun in her mind, as if she felt like that life was a trap, full of foolish obstacles and rules that meant absolutely nothing in the real world. Though not entirely resentful of her comfortable like and upbringing, the rules associated with it were dangerous. Being tied to a legacy by your name made you a target, marked for death for those who wanted what you had, or for those who had the faintest shadow if insecurity. She was so hurt inside that she was glad to shed her name for a while if it meant staying alive. Gladness filled her to have Sandor by her side through all of this. He accepted her for everything that she was, and she would repay him for it in kindness. Sitting up in bed, she stretched and placed her hands on her groggy, salty face and was thankful her tears had subsided. It was a true hope that her grieving would be less of an outpour from now on. In an attempt to shield her heart, she would fill her thoughts with the happy times and bury her pain. While rising, the plate of food left on the chair next to her bed was a welcome sight. The bread had become stale, but the cold food was a welcome charge to her soul and she ate heartily. She was always hungry after crying, and eating made her feel a bit of comfort in spite of her promise to try not to eat when emotional. After she was dressed, she would see if she could return the plate to the kitchens herself, as she was in need for more human contact. She was hoping anyone would come by. She did miss conversing with other girls. Perhaps Sandor would allow her to make a friend whilst at the Inn, although there be only a shadow of hope in this. She knew they would be moving on soon, and she wished they could stay hidden here forever. The light from the dusty window appeared to be bright, signaling mid-day, and she was glad to ready herself for another lavender bath down the hall. Upon looking at her puffy red face in the mirror, she gave an inward chuckle as she pressed her cheeks with her delicate hands. Her hair needed a good brushing, and braids would seem appropriate, but would have to wait for now. But she would never again fashion her hair in the Southern style, and was glad to have her fiery tresses set free, falling about her shoulders. She admired herself as she so loved to do, and did truly find herself beautiful in her newfound freedom.

"What is your name my dear? Lilianna. Lilianna Flowers, a maidservant from Highgarden." As she brushed her hair, she studied herself and her voice, and let loose her proper vernacular as she did so. Her head tilted seductively, and she watched her lips and face move in the mirror. Setting the brush on the dressing table, she ran her hands through her soft hair and gathered it loosely up from her neck and shoulders. Looking at her graceful neck and soft lips, she thought of what real beauty was in how natural her reflection appeared. She wondered if anyone else noticed, if _Sandor_ noticed, and figured that if she was more relaxed around him, maybe he would see her beauty too…

The Hound practically tore off his breeches and let loose his heavy and throbbing manhood. The upward jutting angle matched her opening perfectly, and he took no mercy when squeezing himself in. Stars exploded behind Moreen's eyes as the Hound buried himself up to the hilt, and began to move inside of her with a luscious force, making her mouth gape with pleasure and disbelief at the sheer size of him. She could feel his full stiffness, his heat, his rough and wild nature releasing waves of mounting pleasure inside of her wet slit. Her head fell to rest on her right harm stretched over her head, and the sensation of him driving her to the edge of pain and absolute pleasure made her weak. The muscled in his legs flexed as he fucked her in a hard, upward motion. He loved the way she felt, stretched around him. He looked directly at her, and realized her bliss and wanted to push her a bit more. His left hand came up to her swaying breast, and he tautly squeezed a stiffly puckered nipple, and she winced and gasped all at the same time. He could feel her center precipitate more love fluid for him as he twisted her nipples for her, and felt her flutter around him as her stroked in an out of her. Watching her this way made him iron hard, and he bent his knees to produce a thrust so strong that she cried out with a clenched face in response. Her reaction spurned on his fervor, and he began to repeat the hard thrusts, almost lifting her standing leg off of the stable floor. She fell into a feeling of disbelief as he reached beyond what she could have thought possible, and her insides felt hot as pain and pleasure mingled, his grunts and moans enticed waves of lust that drowned her body, but oh was her center on fire from his friction. He began to pound her, and the sound of slapping flesh filled the silent stable. As their flesh met, his stiff testicles slapped her soft bottom, and the smell of flesh upon flesh and sweat and sex permeated every inch of the dark corner. Moreen was on fire. She wished she could last forever, but she knew she could not. His passion and fervor were too much for her, and she had to think of something to change the pace. With a fleeting thought, she blurted something that made him freeze.

"I could pretend to be her!" she gasped. Sandor stopped at mid stroke and stared at her, breathing heavily. "Just close your eyes, and imagine me, imagine _her_. I know you want her. I see it in your eyes… Look at me…. Feel me," she breathed, and tilted her head backward to rest upon her raised arms. She looked at him with beautiful lustful eyes. He could see that she was almost broken and could take his abuse no longer. Instead of merely being fucked, she wanted him to indulge in his most lustful fantasy. She knew her trade well. "Feel _her_," she panted. He understood her plan and let her words entice him into a new direction. His breath slowed, and he was immersed into a deep passion that could only be reached through the thought of his lovely companion. He closed his eyes and in a brief moment, there she was, a pale scarlet beauty before him. Her largely swollen breasts were there to hold, and he did so, kneading them ever so gently, so tenderly, so heavy as so sweet they were, as pale as cream with pink berries as nipples for him to enjoy, and that he did, sucking gently and swirling his tongue around them.

_So sweet, so hard for me. Tell me you like this, Little Bird. Tell me you love the way I make you feel. Tell me you do not fear me. I am here to love you, and to do as you will. Let me inside you, I lick your insides for the first time and make you mine. I will taste your crimson love and all of the sweetness you let spill onto me. All mine, and for no other…_He thought of the smell of her scent in the bedroom and remembered its perfume that lingered in the bed linens. Moreen moaned in response to his indulgence, and the sound of her pleasure set his tongue to dance over her nipples and flutter about them, making her chest rise in an attempt for more. He enclosed his mouth over her nipple and began to suck passionately, almost driving Moreen to bliss. She never knew that his mouth alone on her breast could do so much. He began to move in and out of her now weeping cunt, slowly, gently, holding her waist with one hand while kneading a breast gently in the other. Eyes still closed, he rotated his hips, slowly and smoothly, bending his knees to gently slide further into her as his hips did the rest.

_Oh Sansa…..ahhhhh….mmmmm….fuck….._

Echoes of Moreen's moans reverberated in his mind, and the passion welled up in him, making him bend his knees and making him take short angled strokes right onto her pleasure center. Moreen was blinded by pleasure and lust, and not a bit of pain. The head of his cock passed over her pleasure center over and over again, stroking her, licking her on the inside, building a flood of pleasure that she had never felt before. She wanted to bring the both of them home together. She was so jealous of this slight, shy virgin girl, that she had all of this tower of a man within an arm's reach. And so she sang a melody of passion for him, to make him believe it was real.

"Ahhhh…oh, my lover , my protector…mmmmmm ahhhh my love. You feel soooo good inside of me, I've never felt so good before…I love how you hold me, make love to me….._fuck me deeply_….." she sharply whispered, and he did just that. Long, deep, rolling stokes he gave her, his chest heaved and his hips circled, eyes closed imagining the beauty in front of him. Moreen's nerve center was firing off. She gave him a downpour of pleasure, and with tight spasms she clenched down upon the manhood that penetrated her and coated his stiffness with warmth, so wet, so deep…

"Mmmmmm…Ssssssssaaaan….mmmm," he groaned deeply, almost speaking her name. He pulled himself from the body before him, and pressed the iron pike against her belly. He thrust against her, and she could feel the heat radiating from the love he had for his charge. The streams of liquid silver shimmer spurted between their bodies and his true fantasy was complete. He opened his eyes and he was miles away from where he had been. Moreen could see that the fantasy was over. The stable was back to normal, dark, and creaky, just a shelter with straw strewn about. There was a whore before him, and his cock was thankful to her, yet his heart was deeply ashamed and betrayed every sense of relief he obtained through the next moments. Suddenly, he was no more than a hollow man with nothing on the inside but echoes of regret. If he imagined the untouchable, the impossible, nothing more than a dream, he did so just now and he knew he could never come so close and give his love _inside_ of his Little Bird, but could only swear his sword in front of her. What a price to pay. For the first time in his life, in his heart he could not deny the love he had inside for her. It had always been there, but he buried it and built himself a silent wall of stone to encase it. The deep shame and sorrow and yes, heartache he felt moved him in such a way that he vowed to never touch another woman again save only her when she was of age, and would wait an eternity until she would allow him. The previous event proved that no other woman would compare to her beauty and he would keep her safe and close to him forever. Moreen could see the evidence of how the endeavor had broken him instead of her, and after dressing, she stood there silently and watched him. He did have a heart after all, and she knew who it belonged to. She had read him well.

"She is very fortunate to have you," she whispered. The sound of her voice breaking the silence made him alert again.

"Your small clothes are too ornate for a common wench. Where did you get them?" he briskly asked.

_The Hound truly misses no detail._ She thought to herself, and concluded it better to tell the truth of who she was and her purpose. After what they had been through, coming out with her identity would truly be risky, but the chance was much less that he would hurt her if she promised to betray her allegiance.

"A small exchange for my allegiance," she said, and watched his reaction carefully. When she was met with cold hard eyes, she continued. "Do not fear. I will not say to anyone that you were here. Unfortunately, the raven flies faster than the stallion. All of the whole five kingdoms are looking for the two of you, and Littlefinger will stop at nothing to use her to ransom her for power. But I am a believer of love." The look in her eyes was true, and Sandor could not deny that her words were laced with sadness. She felt sorry for both he and Sansa, and she also hid her fear behind her eyes. "Love may have escaped me, but the two of you have a chance to make it real," she concluded.

Sandor thought for a moment that he should kill her now. This woman was dangerous for the mission at hand. Furthermore, she knew his true feelings for Sansa, which made her even more of a liability.

"I should gut you and spill your pretty entrails all over this stable." He roughly said through clenched teeth. Moreen's eyes widened, she knew he was fully capable of doing so; after all, he nearly fucked her in two.

"Please ser, I pledge my silence to you. As a favor, I will help take care of the girl and keep watch while you do your business throughout the day. To show I will honor my service to you I will give you what Littlefinger had advanced me." With that, she reached under her dress to expose a pouch that was sewn to the underskirts of her dress will small compartments for coin. Each was small compartment laid separately so that none of the pieces rubbed together. Sandor thought it clever that she ensured no man would hear exactly how much coin she carried on her. He watched as she removed a handful of gold and handed it to him.

"Keep it." He said. "I can pay you twice if when we leave we are undiscovered. Look after her, and keep her company. And do not speak her name to her, nor mine. Do you understand?" he commanded. "You do know you will pay with your life should this go awry." Moreen nodded in agreement. "Your sex will no longer be required. I will take no other woman. So never pant at me like a groveling bitch ever again! I will tell Helena you are in contracted service until I leave." He turned to leave the stables and a final thought hit him. He hid his smile at the wonder of it, but twisted his face back into his usual grimace before he added one last requirement to his list. "Do not speak of your profession. She is a lady, and is to be uncorrupted. Just keep her company. Use the name Little Bird when you knock on her chamber and she will trust that I sent you." Moreen gave a ragged curtsey in in response to his final command. This arrangement had to have _some_ benefit to him and Sandor knew the nature of women. If you order them not to discuss something, they always do. Deep in his heart, he hoped she could tell her a thing or two about being a woman, in case the dream became reality.

Sansa started at the sound of the knock on her door. If it were Sandor, he would have just opened the door with his key. She rose from the dressing table and proceeded cautiously to answer. She pressed he hear to the door and heard nothing but the light shifting of a dress.

"Who is there?" she asked nervously.

"I am Moreen. Your Ser sent me to you. Please open the door Little Bird?" It was more of a question than a reply, and Moreen was nervous that Sansa would refuse for mistrust. But as Sandor told her, she opened the door. Sansa was awestruck at the sight before her. This was most certainly unexpected that this whore come to meet her with Sandor's permission. Sansa felt the heat of her anger flush her cheeks, and let out a slow and angry reply.

"You….." she said, as her face turned pure crimson.


	7. Chapter 7

Moreen could feel the heat emanating from the furious girl before her. She wished that she could make herself more appealing to her, but she knew there was nothing that she could say to improve her position. The understanding that flashed through her caused her eyes to lower and her shoulders to slump a bit, as if the shame of her profession came to the forefront of her being. Having just been ravaged by the tower of a man only a short time ago, and finding reprieve by pretending to be this flaming red bitch in front of her deepened the whore's hatred for her. She hated everything about her as a matter of fact, her pale creamy skin was a lovely canvas for her piercing blue eyes following down to a long slender nose, which sheltered a beautiful pouty mouth with small yet full lips that pursed in response to the virgin girl's anger and disgust. But Moreen had made a promise, and with that oath came a responsibility to push her hatred and jealousy aside, and complete the task at hand.

"I know ya don't like me Flowers," she said , lowering her eyes. "but your Ser said ya could use some comp'ny. An' that's all I'm here to do. Talk to ya, help out a bit 'till ya go."

Sansa just stared, but the temperature in her face died down a bit as Moreen continued.

"Can't be much amusement bein' stuck up here all day now, is it?" Sansa only looked, but thought about how Sandor might react when he found out how rude she was being to this woman. She stepped aside and let her in. Her eyes were still intensely locked on the woman as she closed and locked the door behind them. Sansa did not move to offer her a seat, but only stood at the door with her arms folded underneath her bosom, attempting to push her breasts to appear more womanly in her presence. She watched her full hips sway as she crossed to the center of the room. Sansa was slightly jealous, but she knew she had more grace in her being than the whore ever could. And so glided across the room and sat down gracefully on the bed, straight backed and minding her corseted posture despite her lowly guise.

"Sit down," she said haughtily. Moreen gave a slight smile and did as she was bid, searching for the chair in front of the dressing table and took her place. She tried to be kind as the ice blue eyes burned into her and continued with her attempts at small talk.

"This room is pretty. I've never been in it before-"

"But you have been in the one next to it. They are practically the same." Sansa shot back coldly.

Moreen felt insulted at the gall of this child, but held her tongue as the girl did have a point. There was no reason to hide as she knew she could hear everything through those thin walls.

"Yes, I have, and I'm sure you'd never understand, but yes. " She wanted to add a little more to make the girl not hate her so much. " An' I'm sorry for anythin' ya might 'av heard young maiden. Got work ta' do…'aint proud of it, but 'tswhat I do."

Sansa felt a bit sour for herself; she knew her rudeness was ill placed. Surely the whore was not proud of what she had done, and it was plain that the woman had no other profession. She still could not contain her anger though, not because of the woman's profession, but because of the person she was hired for. Her protector, her everything, her only person in this world, and to think that his strong arms were around that woman, the same arms that held her safe and close that same morning, re-kindled the flame within her and her young mind began to reel, imagining the things he had done with her, how it was to have him kiss her, and what it was like to be underneath him. She wanted to know oh so badly, but it would have to wait. Sansa swallowed her anger and looked down at her hands as she drew in a deep breath and composed herself.

"Well, Moreen, maybe we should get to know each other then," she said in a huff. Honestly she missed talking with someone else so much that she could put her hatred aside. "It has been a long time since I had a real conversation. The Ser is a man of few words and I do so love to talk." She said, almost with a girlish exuberance. Moreen smiled, remembering her youth and how much she loved gossip with her friends at this maiden's age. But her conversations were always of a sexual nature and not of childish fancy.

"A woman never grows out o' lady chats!" she said through a sultry smile. No matter what Moreen did, there was always a subtle sexiness about her, and Sansa admired her for that.

_At least there is one attribute I like about her. Maybe she can teach me too. _She thought.

"Well, where are you from?" Sansa eagerly asked.

"I come from a poor family, one o' the Hill Tribes from the western side o' Vale. Life was a rough one, every man an' woman for 'imself ya' know? I was born into a fam'ly of six brothers. I was the star in my father's eyes because I was the only daughter o' his. One hard winter my mother died, that was when I was about ten. I missed her much, still do," She trailed off. Sansa felt a pang of sorrow for Moreen. She missed her own mother as well and understood what that must have felt like. "She always worried about me, cause I was pretty ya' know? In the tribes, girls 'ent pretty, they look as rough as the boys do." Moreen caught Sansa's gaze and couldn't hide the small pools that welled up. Sansa felt bad for asking the question in the first place. But she knew there was more to tell and if they were going to spend time together, she wanted to know exactly whom she had with her.

"How did you come here?" she asked, with her eyes pleading for answers. Moreen sighed and looked as Sansa with earnest. She had never told anyone this sad part of her life, and was unsure of why she had even begun to tell the tale of her past to this foolish maiden. She supposed that she might feel better about herself is she continued until the end and found the bravery to do just that.

"Well, my mother always told me ta' watch myself while playin'. I always listened to her. She was everything ta' me. After she died, that spring, the meadows looked so pretty, that they reminded me of her. I was lost in its beauty. So, I went out to run an' lay in the fields. I remember thinking of my mother, what her voice was like, and her songs filled my head. Couldn't hear anything else but her songs. I didn't know I wasn't alone. Some other tribesman was on me in an instant. Never knew he was there. Didn't know if he followed me or was waitin' for any girl to get lost in the meadow. I was only eleven. "Her face winced and her eyes closed tight, as if she was experiencing the pain all over again. "Bleedin', burnin'….gods, it happened so fast. I was so shame I didn't want my father to know. So I ran, away, from town to town, catchin' rides n' carts n' wagons, doin' everythin' to survive. I made friends here an' there. All of us had similar pasts. I loved talkin' to them girls. They were just like me. But I had to grow up still, had ta' keep movin'. Till' 'bout six years ago I came here….an' well, you know the rest."

Sansa had a silent exterior, but inside her heart was pounding hard enough to sway her body back and forth. She had imagined the terror of the woman in front of her, as a child whose innocence was ripped away from her. She herself came so close, so close to being ravaged by strangers, crude heartless ravenous men. Their angry faces flashed before her, and she closed her eyes tightly. And then she remembered him. Killing her nightmares before her, and lifting her weightlessly to safety. How safe and protected he made her feel, like no danger in the world could ever come close to truly harming her ever again. Her heart warmed at the thought of her being carried by this man for whom she had a deep affection. Moreen noticed that her story had struck something inside the maiden, and was warmed by her affectionate hand which now patted the top of her rough and calloused one. A true sign of kindness that she did not expect to come from this highborn girl. As Sansa opened her eyes, a flash of understanding and unexpected admiration passed between the two women and the tension that was wedged between them was finally dissolved. Moreen would find out the back story to her affection later, but wanted to change the mood to a lighter one for now.

"So, Flowers, what do ya' need done today? I can help you wash yer clothes for now if ya' like."

Sansa liked how Moreen called her by her last name. She found it almost boyish and a smile crept into her full lips as her new companion turned the heavy talk into a new direction. She gathered her small clothes and some lavender soap as Moreen lay the travelling dress over her arm, and they headed to the washroom at the end of the hall together. Sansa was thankful that Sandor had thought of her being lonely and sent Moreen to her. She would thank him for the gesture.

Sandor sat at his normal table in the dark corner of the tavern. He ate heartily, and had already sent food up for Sansa to enjoy with her "companion". A bit of unease squeezed itself into the back of his mind every time he thought of pairing the whore with his Little Bird. But he knew that she would keep her word, even if her had to silence her himself. He would have no qualms about it, and this thought of killing her relaxed his mind a bit, and he was able to return to finishing his meal. Helena seemingly gave him the best portion of the house, as she delighted in having been paid the retainer for Moreen. She saw the presence of her guests as a blessing since the inn was desperate for some real monies coming in. This ser paid well to keep their secret safe and she would do nothing to disturb that.

Two men were talking at a table near him, and though his hood was up, they knew he was probably listening. It turned out that the men were traders from the free cities and were on a course of deliveries of textiles throughout Westeros. One of them, bald and dark skinned with small beaded decorations on his moustache and the other with a long white and grey beard.

"Two more towns to get through, then its back home," said the bearded man. The other one laughed and piped up, "Come _on_ Harrow, you mean you don't like it here in cold grey Westeros? Where's your sense of adventure these days? You're a merchant, not a milk maid!" he said with a laugh.

"I tell you what. I'd rather be in my home in the Free Cities, and pokin' a milk maiden than making deliveries here," he said somberly. "I think this may be my last run." He chewed on something imaginary, and his face reminded Sandor somewhat of a goat. "The _Fathom Charger_ will be all yours, Grip. I know you'll take good care of her. You been my best mate for over 19 years. Nineteen years! You was just a scrubby lad then…never really thought you'd hold on to the job. But you done well lad," he looked at the man with glistening eyes. "You done well." The younger man looked at the older, and knew his words were true. He did not want to force the issue. He knew his captain was getting old and felt that this time as a wandering merchant would surely come to an end. But he would not have any sadness tonight, and would drink them into a happier mood. He felt a giving gesture would carry them through the night, and looked over to see Sandor sitting at his table alone. He bravely walked over and introduced himself.

"Brother! Oy, brother!" Sandor sharply looked up as the shock of the words brought forth his full attention. He had been called many things, but never had he been called _brother _before, and by a true stranger at that.

"I am Grip, first man of the ship _Fathom Charger_ from the Free Cities!" he grinned. "Ain't no time for a man to sit alone." He outstretched a hand to greet him. To Sandor's own intrigue, he outstretched his hand in return giving a brace that may have been a little too strong. "Norsand Stone." he said with a voice low and deep. "Well strong man, stone indeed!" said Grip, releasing his hand and giving his wrist a shake, "Come sit by a brave Captain Merchant and I brother! Friends is thin out here, and we need a reason to celebrate." And Sandor needed a way out of Westeros. He thought for a moment as a plan of escape unfolded before his eyes. A route, a cover, a ship. His little bird would be safe. He rose from the table, strong, menacing and proud and sat at the table to join them.

"Six casks of your best!" he shouted over to Landau. He eagerly nodded and readied the strongest brown ale he could find.

Moreen and Sansa laughed heartily as they finished their plates and stacked them together. Their night was full of gossip and lady talk, joking and cursing alike. Sansa took on to these lessons very well. She wanted to make sure she could play the role as a lowborn girl thoroughly, and surely the talk of Lania Flowers could not be a perfectly lovely as hers. The women were nearing exhaustion. Neither could see what time it was. The candles had burned almost half way down and it was nearing the time for Moreen to depart. Sansa thought about the whore's next destination and was concerned for her. Who knew what man she would be with next, or even if the next one would be her last? She spoke up despite her nervousness of breaching the question.

"Where will you go later on?" Sansa asked, making the room glow in still candle light. Moreen saw the concern in her eyes.

"Oh, don't worry maiden, I'm not going to your ser any longer." Sansa looked at Moreen in a bit of shock.

"_My ser_? Oh! Well,…" she flushed crimson again but this time it was not over anger.

"No…..I meant, if-," she continued.

"No need to explain! I know you love him," Moreen chimed in, as if it were fact.

"No! I do not! I only wanted to know where you were going, not even thinking about the ser!" she said, a bit flustered.

"Don't hide it child. I know ya'! I see how ya' looked at him when I gave him my sultry eyes the first night." Sansa was quiet with embarrassment. "Its all right, anyone would fall in love with that man, even a whore." Sansa caught her tone and came to attention. "But don't worry about me, pretty. He's far, far away now….for me at least." Moreen sighed at the memory of the manhood and the silver rain she would never taste again, but kept that thought to herself. Sansa thought about what she heard that night and felt a flutter deep in her abdomen. She closed her eyes at the thought and remembered the sound of his voice through the wall. Her eyes opened and then she saw Moreen and wished she could have been her that night, just so that she could see him in such a way. Sansa's inquisitive nature suddenly got the best of her, and found this conversation the perfect opportunity to have some questions answered.

"Yes Moreen, you are right. I do love him. At least I think I do. This isn't like the love from the books and the stories. This love isn't as beautiful. It's….more. But I don't know if he would ever love me in return. He is so much to me. He is everything." She felt so good saying the words. "That night, I was listening through the wall," she confessed. "When I heard him that night, making all of those delicious sounds, it did something to me that I cannot describe. I felt warm, you know, on the inside, and I felt…. Hhhaaahhh.." she sighed. "I felt like I needed to sit upon something to feel some pressure…you know…there."

Moreen smiled. This girl was so coy it was almost laughable. "Ya' mean he lit a fire in your cunt!?" she said, grinning widely.

Sansa smiled sheepishly. "…yes…" it was almost a whisper, but Moreen knew what was behind it.

"I don't even know if I should tell him, or even let him know. I want to, but I don't know how to begin." She said, searchingly. The nervousness spread through her because she was sharing something so personal with someone she barely knew. It was downright embarrassing, but she needed answers.

"Well, the first thing you need to do is kiss him. Not like the kisses you give your mum or father, you need to kiss him like he is the man he is. Ya' need to show him y'appreciate him."

Sansa looked on at Moreen, and saw her in the candle light. She was such a dark hired beauty with deep sexy eyes. She wished she could look at him the way she did.

"That is easy for you to say. You are beautiful, and you can enrapture any man just by looking at him." She replied sadly.

Moreen felt for the girl and wanted to help her. She knew she was beautiful but with _this_ girl saying so, she knew it was true. A moment of silence passed between the women and Moreen finally spoke what was on her mind. "I can show you," she said. Sansa froze and Moreen could sense her terror. "Don't worry maiden. I'll teach ya'. Then you can let him know how you feel." Moreen moved closer in front of Sansa. Her breath began to exhale in ragged staggers as Moreen's beautiful face came near. Her eyes swallowed her in the candle light and she was snared by their beauty.

"Yes…" said Sansa, trembling. "I want to look at him just like that."

Moreen touched her pale cheek and Sansa was tickled by the sweet breath in front of her.

"Now, don't be afraid…..you will like this, and he will too." she whispered. With a tilt of her head, Moreen brushed her soft full lips across the maiden's. She pulled back gently and slightly opened her lips to allow the lower one to gently touch the top of Sansa's, eliciting the response for Sansa's sweet lips to part. Her warm mouth pressed gently over Sansa's pout and the feeling of her softness and hot tongue tickling the edge of her mouth sent a heat wave directly to Sansa's lower body and made her temperature rise. Her legs began to tremble as the sensation ran from her thighs into her center. Sansa wrapped her lips onto the soft lower petal of Moreen's and sucked on it gently. Sansa's own lips, so unbelievably soft like feather pillows, pressed and stretched against Moreen's and a heated exchange of attraction spoke between them. Sansa sighed and Moreen pulled her closer with a gentle hand behind the neck of the maiden, and their bodies pressed against one another. Sansa felt the warmth of Moreen's mature bosom pressing to hers, making a gentle friction and electricity between the two.

"Mmmm…" Sansa moaned though the hot kiss and she felt her honey start to precipitate. Moreen was blinded with lust for the maiden, but wanted to regain all control. She pressed her lips against the lovely pout one last time and released, gasping in protest for the breaking of the air in between them, and found a dreamy pair of eyes looking back at her.

"Now Flowers," she gasped. "that is how ya' show him." She said, and all Sansa could do was nod slowly, regarding her teacher in admiration.

"It is time for me to go. When he comes to look in upon ya', make sure he leaves with clear understanding of where ya' heart stands."

Sansa nodded once more. She watched silently as Moreen rose and bent to gather the plates from their evening meal. The clang of the plates snapped the girl out of her love-trance and she shot up to hold the door for her companion.

"Tomorrow then," said Moreen, glad that she was leaving the room under much better conditions than when she arrived.

"Tomorrow," bade Sansa and her eyes followed Moreen as she descended the stairs. As soon as Moreen was out of sight, Sansa closed and locked the door. She turned quickly and leaned upon it and exhaled as if she were exasperated with passion. A smile spread across her beautiful face, and she ran to the bed and crashed into the covers. How thrilled she was, that Moreen knew everything, and soon she would know too. As she lay in the bed in her blissful excitement, she crossed her legs and remembered the honey that graced her below. As she had done before, she rocked her leg over the other, pressing her thighs together, the sweet friction causing her curiosity to mount once more, She lifted her skirts and while lifting her hips off of the bed, removed her small clothes to ponder them. The lace was moist and fragrant. She noticed the shiny sparkling center and breathed in the perfume it bore. She brought them closer to her nose and breathed deeply, thinking to herself of how lovely the smell was, and wondered if Moreen smelled the same. She then had an inkling of cleaning herself with them. As she attempted to wipe the sweet precipitation off of her center, she loved the pressure the motion produced, and felt a sweeping sensation when they touched what she called her rosebud. She had remembered the pleasing feeling of listening to Sandor through the wall, and wished she could hear him again.

"From which of the Free Cities do you men hail?" asked Sandor, his demeanor much tempered by the ale which did indeed make the evening light.

"You'd never know it, but Myr's where we come from! I ain't deyed me mustache yet, but as soon as I get back I will. Dark bluish black's what I'm going for! And you Harrow? What color's you going to make yer long white beard?!" shouted Grip, a little too drunk to know he was shouting.

"I ain't! Told you a hundred times lad! That colorin' stuff is fer young folk! I'm showin' off my wisdom!"

"Well then, forget about the milk maiden!" they both erupted in a boom of laughter.

Sandor just smiled. _Myr would be a perfect place. Far away from the dangers of Westeros. They could surely find refuge there, and maybe get her some lovely linens of lace that she could use to make….bloody hell. Here I go with dreaming again._

"Well merchant men, who says you got to go and sell your wares to other towns? You may be able to find a buyer. Right here. I'll wager that you won't get much for your lacework and tapestries in this area. How bout I give you an offer for an exchange," said Sandor, picking his words carefully.

Harrow sat and pondered silently while grips eyes grew wide. "Now don't tell me our brother Norsand here's a business man! In exchange for what brother?" he asked excitedly.

"In exchange for passage to Myr. Me, my horse and servant. I'll pay you in gold. There's too much turmoil in this region for us. I'm ready to start over, and I'm willing to pay my way." He sat, waiting for his new found friends to accept his offer. Grip looked at Harrow, who in his thoughts returned to chewing his imaginary something. He mumbled and nodded, raised his eyebrows and mumbled some more. Grip was growing impatient. In truth, he wanted to go back home just as much as Harrow did. The bearded man finally spoke.

"Well, I do so hate cold grey Westeros," he chewed, "Our ship is docked in Gull Town. Won't take but a few day's ride. We'll take ya!"

Grip was excited both for the company and for the payment. They moved along with jests and laughter as the night grew late. Soon, the men at the table grew quiet as the whore approached. Their casks of ale now empty and their faces were lined with laughter as the two merchants shared stories with their new brother. Moreen stooped to whispered to Sandor, and not without Grip stealing a peek at her full bosom as she leaned over. Harrow politely turned away.

"Your Lady will see you," she whispered. As she rose, she caught the ogling glare of the bald man and tossed him a wink. He flushed red and grinned from his chin to the crown of his head. She walked seductively over to Willow, who had nestled her bottom into the lap of a drinking man.

"I must tend to business….brothers. Shall I meet you here tomorrow?" he asked the men at the table.

"Aye, we take day to rest." He rose, braced hands with both men, and swiftly went to the front of the inn. Helena greeted him with her usual joyous smile. He reached into his pouch and retrieved enough to cover the quarters for the men. "A room for the merchants," he said, and placed the coin into Helena's warm hand. She smiled and said in earnest, "You have truly been a blessing Ser." He had no room for further courtesies after forcing laughter and jest all night, but he did nod his head respectfully before going up the stairs.

Sansa folded the small clothes into a ball and placed it in between her legs, right over her rosebud. She lay back across the bed, and attempted to cross her knee over the other, so she could rock her leg gently and create lovely pressure over her bud, but when she tried, the bundle fell down and away from her. She folded the cloth up, and attempted again, but this time she thought of leaving her legs flat on the bed and crossing her ankles instead. Her breath was heavy though her endeavor, and when she had placed the bundle on her center and interlocked her ankles, a wash of bliss came over her, as she made a direct hit. She squeezed her thighs together, and her pleasure increased as she began to gyrate her hips with the bundle in between her legs. The pressure made her rosebud grow with the sensation of it being touched, and pleasured for the first time. Her breath became heavy and she opened her mouth to breathe. Her hips moved faster, this time up and down, allowing the bundle to rub her with even more pressure, and her pleasure was building to a height she never felt before. Her honey soaked the cloth, and her rosebud began to slip against the fabric.

KNOCK, KNOCK, BANG- the sound of the door pierced her silent bliss, and sent her reeling in panic. She grabbed the soaked cloth and hid it under the pillow. She could hear the key being retrieved from Sandor's waist, but before he unlocked the door she shouted.

"One moment please! I am not properly dressed!" She froze, and to her relief the keys stopped their gentle tinkling.

"Are you all right Little Bird?" asked Sandor, through the door. He was embarrassed for almost barging in, and remembered that Sansa is a woman who needs her privacy. He made a small promise to himself to never forget that.

"I- I'm fine," She said, adjusting her skirt and quickly brushing her hair. She placed the brush on the dressing table and ran to the bed, sitting upright with her leg crossed. She then jumped off of the bed, brought the chair closer to where she was, faced it toward her and then sat back on the bed again leg crossed, all was well. She breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, regaining her composure.

"Come in," she said calmly. Sandor gently unlocked the door and opened it, peeking from around the door before coming into the room. As he strode toward the center, his nose was filled with the perfume of his Little Bird's sex and the lovely smell of it was more intoxicating that the ale in the tavern. A slight smile spread across his lips, but he quickly dashed it away. He stood very tall and mighty, and Sansa noticed his size for the first time. She looked at the broadness of his shoulders, framing the strong muscular barreled chest covered in leather. Her eyes traced outward to the strong arms that held her close that very same morning, and to the strong yet gentle hands that so effortlessly lifted her on and off of Stranger's back. Then finally, to his breeches with the swollen union of the lacings. Her heart skipped. She knew that her perfume had roused his senses and she suddenly became embarrassed of his presence before her. She cleared her throat.

"Please sit down," she asked, as she gestured to the chair before her.

"Very kind of you," Sandor snorted and moved to sit. As he moved across the room, he took care to breathe deeply. Approaching the chair set out for him, he leaned forward to sit and took a slow, deep, audible breath though his nose and sat, with his legs wide.


	8. Chapter 8

Sansa sat in front of her protector with her eyes slightly widened at his stance. She started to wonder if she had made a mistake in thinking that she could ever express herself to him. She was so small compared to him, so sight and slender, delicate and abhorrently small breasted in her opinion. She wished her body was more substantial, that the important parts of her could fill at least half of his hands. She looked down at his hands and saw how massive they were and wanted them around her, holding her and caressing her body beneath her clothes. Her eyes moved toward his ever broad chest and watched him breathe deeply, and she wished her head to be placed upon it again, to feel it lower and swell so that this time she may hear him draw breath instead of sob all over him. Then her eyes moved to his face, and she froze. Not in fear, but in that she suddenly became emboldened to touch his face, on the hurt side where she knew he did not wish to feel her delicate hand. She imagined that he would press his face into her hand and leave a warm impression upon it forever. Her slender fingers twitched as if they would move on their own, but instead, they did nothing. For when she looked into his eyes, she saw that same annoyance that he always held when he regarded her. If she only knew what he really thought of the two of them together.

"Well girl?" his voice boomed. She was wasting his time. The animalistic nature in him had no patience for a staring contest. He wanted her , to tease her, to give her feelings she never had before in her life, from anyone. He wanted to caress the delicate skin before him. To smell perfume between her thighs and to taste that luscious honey that he knew had been spilled by the thought of him only moments before he entered the room. His blood coursed hotter and faster as he thought of savoring her nectar, and his passion began so express itself through tiny beads of sweat above his handsome brow. But this girl delayed. She sat there, staring. And though his body screamed to ravage her treasures, he knew that she was only beginning to understand the works of herself. And then the understanding washed over him, and he truly began to understand the lady before him. How can he make her feel such unbridled passion by only her mere presence? Damn her, this girl who is ever so changing. And damn himself, for he knew that his heart was weeping for her and that passion was suddenly overruled by reason. Reason! For the first time, he thought of the woman who stood before him as a priority , and that er ultimate pleasure _and_ happiness was paramount. He knew she had changed. And he knew he had too, so much in that swift moment, that allowing her and giving her room to thrive in his arms while becoming a woman was so much more than just simply fucking and bleeding from having been split open by a fleshy iron rod. He knew that if she was to be his, then he had better take his time or he would ruin it all with his brashness. He wanted her, wanted to own her, to feel her heat encompass him and her breath pressed into his chest. He wanted to see that sweet face twist with pleasure and he wanted that reward of her pulsating flesh around him, letting down her shower of wet silk that he would slip blissfully into. The thought was blinding. It made his heart swell in pure passionate joy. That would be such a reward for treating her…..honorably. He breathed in deeply and quelled the storm that electrified his britches, the pounding in his head ceased and the beads of sweat receded, his ears were cooler as his passionate heat escaped him and as he exhaled, he let the passion of his hard erection leave his body with a long, even expulsion of warm breath. He crossed his massively muscled arms across his chest, and spoke.

"Sansa, you must know the events of tomorrow," he said quietly.

Sansa's loving, blissful gaze was sharply interrupted. She knew he would never see it. That he would never want her, not in that way she wanted him. Not like how he heard his ecstasy that night. Her disappointment at her moment lost made her grow hot with embarrassment, and she looked at her now travelling companion for the news of their journey. As she sat with her attention half-fixed upon the massive figure before him, she tried her best to imagine the sounds of passion escaping his lips instead of words, but it was no use. Every word came out a steely gray construction of phrases. No color to be seen, nor passion to be had. It was simply a conversation.

"We travel by horse and cart tomorrow, with a couple of merchants. When we reach the harbor we travel by boat. Do not ask where we are going. Just know that it will be safe. There are rules Sansa and none of them can be broken. You cannot be seen or heard. The road will be terribly dangerous and transit must be made seamlessly. Do you understand?"

His last words made her shiver with fear. She knew very well how important her silence was. She had survived her whole family and was the very last of her kin. Sandor could see the fear in her eyes, and did not want to press on with the details, but he knew he must.

Two men will be taking us. It is not important for you to know their names now, but you will later, that is a promise. My own name has changed, as yours had. I am known as Norsand Stone. Even to our companions as they know nothing of me. Nor you. You will keep your face covered, even though I have paid for safety, and silence, they do not know who you are. You are known only as, " he hesitated, "…my wench." He did not wish to say it, but he had to. This time was different, much different from the last. No mocking or insults would be thrown at her anymore. The mood would be kept serious, and more importantly, respectful. To his surprise, Sansa perked up at his last statement, and decided that it would be a good time to play pretend. She jumped up out of her seat and clasped her hands behind her back. She walked with a skipping sway across the dark room and decided to show him her adeptness in "low-born talk".

She turned around and looked at his puzzlement. "Can I get' cha somethin' masta? How 'bout a cask of ale?" The look of bewilderment that flashed across his face was enough to make her burst into a quiet laughter. She was so tickled on the inside that she had to cover her mouth in order to hide her delight.

"What in seven hells was that?" he almost chuckled himself. For the first time this Little Bird elicited an actual laugh from him. But he did not wish to show too much, so he stifled it with much difficulty.

"Moreen taught me," she stood tall and smiled, feeling quite proud of herself.

"Is that so?!" he was still trying to hide his smile as he rose. "We leave at first light. Get some rest." He said, making his way to the door.

Sansa was both excited and saddened that it was time to move on. She so loved their safe abode. She would miss this place. She would actually miss Moreen as well. She had to speak up. She rushed to Sandor's side.

"Is not Moreen coming as well," she stated more than she asked.

"That was not discussed. " he said sternly.

"Sandor, " she began to plead, but something in her had awaken at this peculiar moment, something that she could not explain, but let the sentiment flow from her freely. She said, this time with more authority. "Moreen will come." Sandor's eyes snapped at her, in a bit of shock at her tone. Just only yesterday was she a crying girl, but this time she sounded more…"queenly". She wanted to cringe at his look, but decided instead, to caress his forearm were her hand was placed. She then softened, almost to a whisper, "she will be no trouble. And you did send her to me…"

"That I did." He responded, wondering if he had made a mistake. He looked at Sansa with dutiful eyes and accepted her and her direction.

"As you wish, Lady Sansa," he said, and exited the door without a sound.

Sansa lay down in the soft bed, and looked around the room in its dim light one last time. Albeit a poor shack of sorts, she was comfortable here. Since leaving Winterfell she had never felt so safe. She thought about her sweet housemasters, Helena and Landau and how they both had kept her secret safe. She fell asleep soundly in the stillness of the night, promising that one day, if she ever became of something, something wonderful, someone great, she would send for them. Her eyes became heavy and very quietly she slipped off to a deep sleep.

Morning came swiftly as deep sleep brings it with haste. Before the light of the sun touched the horizon, there was a soft tapping on Sansa's door. She jolted upright, surprisingly alert. The night had been good to her and she was very well rested.

"Who is there?" she rushed out of the bed.

"Your companion Moreen," the lady answered.

With a smile Sansa opened the door to find her beautiful Moreen standing there. She was dressed very well today, most likely in anticipation of their planned travel. Beside her was an ornate trunk that was so lovely that Sansa could not take her eyes off of it. She was so perplexed at the detail of its beauty that she seems to ignore both her companion and the delicious tray of food that she held in her hands.

"Well, come on then, let me in now," Moreen smiled.

Sansa rushed toward her took the tray of food.

"My apologies, friend, " she blushed.

Moreen dragged the heavy trunk into the room. It was so lovely and heavy. She placed the end of it down with a solid thud and spread a cloth over it so she may place the tray of food upon it. This morning's tray was more lovely than usual, with blossom jam and baked scones, along with some weak tea and two cups of honeyed milk. Both Moreen and Sansa ate heartily, not speaking a word to one another with their lips, but giving lovely glances from across their makeshift table. They both had to eat their fill before the gossip began. When they had finished the last sips of their honeyed milk, they both began at once.

"So did you.." "Do you know where…" they both blushed and Moreen lowered her eyes to the table.

"After you, my Lady,"

Sansa smiled and thought how gracious her companion was, and began as to not hold her questions hostage.

"Moreen, do you know where we are going?" she asked with a grin, knowing her companion would always tell her the truth, no matter how secret the subject may be.

" I heard the we're goin" to Myr! D'you know where tha' is m'Lady? Its in the Free Cities! Lovely place I've heard! With lots of Merchants with colored beards!" Sansa's eyes widened. She tried her best to imagine men with all of the colors in the sky arches after the spring rains. It sounded like she was describing a place in one of the tales she used to listen to when she was with Old Nan. "And the finest lace all this side o'the world! Maybe in the whole of Westeros! An' the rest o'the world after that!" Moreen seemed just as much delighted as Sansa. She seemed like an excited child whose dream was only a pinch away from reality. She had yearned for so long to leave Westeros, and her sea captain had come. She continued her tale. "But before that m'Lady, we gotta get you safe through Gull Town. That's where tha' boat is. Gotta ride fast and long ta make it without no one seein' ya…" a look of concern spread over her face. "Good thing is that I will be with you the whole time! Your Ser asked me specifically to accomp'ny ya! Says I'll be your servant behind closed doors."

"Yes, I asked for him to bring you. I did not wish to leave you here alone…well, I know you would not be alone, but I did not wish to be….to be…" She trailed off, embarrassed of the trade of her companion and would rather not say. "You are my companion now and I could not think of leaving you behind," she confessed with a bright smile. She felt close to her, that was true, and how profound was this friendship that Sansa chose to make the best of. She had no other friend, and would vow to treat her as she did her closest, she was, after all the only other lady besides herself that was in her company. Just as quickly as Sansa had named her 'friend", had all of the things that happened between Moreen and Sandor seemed to not bother her, or not even come to the surface of her thoughts. And the kiss they shared was secondary to the friendship that Sansa wanted. She, in her mind dismissed it as a lustful fancy, something that maybe she would embrace once more when the time came. She had so much to learn, and after she froze like a fool in front of her beloved. Her gut wrenched at the thought of how she could ever learn how to show and express her affections with him. Yes, she needed her woman's wisdom if she was to attain her ultimate want. But there would be plenty of time for that if she will reach her destination to Myr. "How did you find out all of this, when I know nothing?" she asked in bewilderment. She has heard so many stories about the trading city. That there were shops of some of the most ornate handiwork and fine lace that ever was. She always wanted quality lace for her needlepoint, but would never dare ask. The price was well beyond her reach of propriety, for no girl would beg her father to find some, yet it would have been a dream to receive some as a gift. Her eyes became glassy with the prospect of living in a completely different world, away from Westeros, bordered by the sea, full of color and full of life.

"Are you certain this will be our destination?" she asked, wanting to ensure this was not a dream.

"Yes m'Lady! You know I 'ent got no reason to deceive ya!"

"How did you find out about all of this?"

"Oh, m'Lady…it don't take much to make a man tell ya' anything….if you know what to do…" she made a hand gesture that Sansa had never seen before, yet vehemently peaked her interest. Moreen's lovely graceful hand came up, as if it were traveling up and imaginary branch, and her wrist circled around slowly and descended. She gave one of her more luscious looks and Sansa knew exactly what it took to make the sea captain spill any secret her friend could ever ask. Moreen saw the look of intrigue on her companion's face, which brought along her question.

"So, did anything pass between you and the Ser? Did you do as I told ya'?"

Sansa's shoulders sloped in reply. "I just sat there like a doll, staring! Such a fool I am. Errrrggh!" she spun and fell onto the bed in a heap.

Moreen smiled at her and shook her head in understanding. She regarded her as both a girl and a woman at once. This would take time.

"Nevermind m'Lady! Let's getcha a final bath for we go. No time ta waste!" she hurriedly moved her toward the washroom as the sun crept close to the horizon.

The room was unusually warm and inviting, like the first time she saw it. The hot, lavender scented water was steaming before her, and she wished she could stay there and set in the water for hours. But she decided that she would leave in a hurry so that her friend could share the water too while it was still hot. She threw off her robes, excited about her new adventure, both happy and sad to leave the small place that she called home for 5 days. It seemed cheery and had a glow that it had not before, and thought about the generosity of her sworn shield that most likely brought the place to life. She began to ponder his wealth as she lowered herself into the hot water. She knew that the Mountain had taken so much from her Hound's inheritance as he pillaged the family with greed and death. Most likely his wealth came from a love of fighting, killing and winning. She came to understand that he truly was a killer, but agreed with herself that there was a jewel sparkling in the dark beneath his exterior, and she vowed to find it and polish it to shine. How long it would take though, she did not know. Her graceful arms reached up and tied her crimson tresses into a knot at the top of her head. As much as she wished she could drench her hair into the hot water and let the scent of lavender permeate her locks, she did not want to travel with a wet head and risk sickness. Her delicate hands pressed the hot cloth against her face and she breathed the perfumed water in, thinking about her imaginary love between her and the tower of a man and wondered what he looked like with no armor. Would he be smaller even if she were to see him with nothing, or would his strength run on underneath her fingertips until the moon set. She closed her eyes and sighed, remembering her embarrassing feat before him. How foolish she must have looked! She just wanted to hide her face from him forever. Not really forever, just for now.

Keeping time in mind, along with the temperature of the bath, she rose and toweled off quickly. Her friend was waiting outside when she peeked her head out and motioned her inside of the washroom. Moreen hurriedly went, wondering if there was cause for alarm.

"Yes m'lady, may I get you something? Time is short," she whispered.

"No Moreen, " she replied while dressing, "The water is still very hot, I have saved some for you too."

Moreen beamed her lovely smile. Not in years has she steeped in a tub, and the offer of one , even if it were just for a few moments was a blissful proposal.

"M'lady! You are too kind to me!" she said while untying her corsets and unlacing her boots all at once. Sansa watched her in bewildered delight, wondering how she had the grace and balance to unlace two garments while standing on one foot. As she let the rest of her petticoats and layers of clothing fall to the floor, Sansa politely turned her back, and picked up the dressings and lay them neatly on a nearby stool.

Moreen lavished in the water, smelling its fragrance, not minding at all that it was used. Sansa had barely stained it with her clean and delicate skin. The floral scent enveloped her friend as she sank deeply into the water, wetting her rich dark hair so that the floral oils would permeate her tresses. She cared not that the chill of autumn would be felt in the morning. All that mattered was that she was getting clean from head to toe.

"Is there a long-stem bristle m'lady?" she asked. Lavishly splashing in the water. So warm is was and so relaxing. Sansa walked over to the dim windowsill and brought both a long bristle and a piece of what appeared to be an old cracked bar of soap, something she had missed so many times before. She wet it in the tub, and proceeded to scrub her friends back in a circular motion, watching the suds rise and flow downward to the graceful posterior before her.

"That's sooo lovely, " Moreen moaned, never having had her back scrubbed before. She caught herself at the sound that escaped her lips. Sansa smiled at the sound, and they both giggled.

"I'll take that, m'lady," She reached out and took the long bristle and soap. "I promise to be quick." And that she was, scouring her body with the soap and rinsing well. Her deep skin had a reddish tone to it form the intense scrubbing, but she felt incredibly clean and deliciously fragrant. She rose and let the water out, and was in awe at the color of water she had left behind. She probably looked a little longer than she should have, for she was slightly repulsed. She breathed deeply as Sansa came up behind her with the drying cloth and wrapped it around her shoulders, quietly contemplating the thoughts and feelings of her friend.

"Now look there, " she whispered, as they both looked at the gray water exiting the basin, "…we're leaving that part behind." Moreen turned to her and she smiled warmly. All Sansa could think of was that she was so naturally beautiful. No wonder her trade worked well for her. Look too long and the spell will never break. But she would remain strong in her friend's moment of weakness and doubt.

" Let us prepare to leave." As Moreen gathered her dressings and began to dress, Sansa cleaned the residue in the basin with fresh cold water and a little bit of the soap that she had found. Upon placing the long bristle and soap upon the windowsill she found a small bottle of rose water. She uncorked it, and sprinkled a few drops into her palms then traced her hands though her fiery tresses, perfuming them with beauty. She did the same to Moreen's wet top knot, and they exited the washroom. Before closing the door, Sansa turned and took one last look. She will surely miss this place.

Upon entering her room for the last time, she found that her belongings had been packed into a trunk which stood in the center of the floor next to the large ornate one. She thought that the smaller trunk had been inside of the larger one. The bed was made and the light in the room was pleasantly that of early morning as the sun had risen well above the horizon and cast a light rosy dew to gleam through the dusky window. Sandor stood there in full armor off to one side of the room. He looked very large and was very silent and strong. He looked at the other side of the room and Sansa's eyes followed. To her delight and surprise, she was greeted by Helena and Landau, who both stood near the foot of the bed. As she looked at Helena's round jubilant face, an intense focus was placed on her eyes as she could not help but to notice the sadness that lurked behind them. She immediately walked over to her and gave her a warm embrace of thanks. Her warm face touched that of the young girl and she was reminded of her Septa.

"You have been so kind to us," she began, and the sparkle in her clear blue eyes was ravishing. She seemed so regal as her sincere words poured forth.

"You and your husband have protected my companion and I well with your sworn secrecy, a trait that one can only find in true friends. " Helena and Landau smiled earnestly.

"It was our pleasure. We are honored to have been in your service, and hope that we have served you well." She embraced the girl again. Sansa gave a regal courtesy to Landau and he bowed his head like a gentleman.

"My Lady." He replied, short, and driven.

Sansa looked at them both. " I will never forget your kindness."

With those sweet and simple words, Landau gathered in his wife around her shoulder and they exited the room, with Helena smiling with one last backward glance.

Upon their exit, two sturdy men walked in, one bald with brown skin and an interesting beard with beaded decorations in it, healthy beard and the other older, wiser, and with a friendly yet, scrutinizing eye. Sansa looked on at them as they strode about the room quietly and began introductions,

"Greetings Miss Flowers. I'm Grip." He said, with a loud deep voice and an overly lavished bow.

"I am the new Captain of our ship the _Fathom Charger_. Been first mate for almost 20 years, so you can be trusted with me!" he smiled and winked ruefully at Moreen, who blushed like a maiden.

"And this, " he boomed, motioning to his teacher "is My Captain, Harrow" he turned and bowed to him. "Captain of the _Fathom Charger_ for all of her days." He chewed on his imaginary thing. "All eleven thousand six hundred and eighty of them…but Grips the Captain now, so you can just call me Mr. Harrow." He said with a light bow.

_He is very strong for his age_. Sansa thought and for a brief moment wondered what Sandor would look like when he gets of age.

"We are here, to provide you safe and confidential transport, from here, that is, this room, to Myr, by way of my….um excuse me ,our ship, the _Fathom Charger_." He announced proudly.

Sansa was a bit confused as Harrow bent over the chest before him. Although it stood open and empty, she watched as he retrieved something from the bottom of it. Moreen brought her travelling overcoat and slipped it onto her companion, quietly. She hurriedly slipped her arms into the sleeves and continued to watch as Moreen laced up her outerwear. Harrow picked up something that looked like a wooden key trimmed in gold. With a shaky hand, he slipped the key into the lock and gave it one turn to the right, one to the left and one to the right again that came full circle. Suddenly Sansa watched in amazement as a set of gears began to wind. A melody of clicks and chimes were heard as the outside of the trunk widened, and appeared to get taller. Several wooden slats turned from their horizontal position and clicked upright. The height of the trunk had risen. Another melody of clicks ensued again, this time with a lower tone and a golden rim perforated with intricate lacelike handiwork appeared to rise from the inside rim of the trunk, raising its height almost chest high in front of her. She was absolutely mesmerized by this device, and could not believe its ability to change. The final set of clicks and melodies began and at the base of the inside of its floor a ledge appeared. Upon looking in the box she saw that this ledge was in fact a seat. With one last melodic chime the transformation was complete. She looked at the trunk in amazement and fantastic wonder, walking around it, stunned by its beauty. Harrow interjected himself into her wide bewilderment.

"We are merchants of Myr, Miss Flowers. And we will transport you safely." He said proudly.

Sansa looked at Sandor with a look of half understanding and half fear. She sought to be reassured about the next step, but she did not need to ask. She knew that she was to be hidden inside of the trunk which would secure her passage and safety.

Sandor stood before her, as a sentinel of trust and confidence and reassured her with minimal words.

"We leave now." And that was all she needed.


	9. Chapter 9

The trunk swayed back and forth as it was hoisted upon the shoulders of Norsand and Grip. Sansa swayed forward in alarm as the two strong men rounded the corner of the hall and began to make their way downstairs. She could hear the shuffling of Moreen and Harrow behind them, preparing the carry the smaller trunk down the stairs as well. The thuds of the heavy booted feet below her were intensely audible as the blood from her heightened state of awareness began to pound in her ears. This descent to her seemed longer than it actually was, for time passing in her mind was slow, compared to the cautious and hurried pace at which the men were moving. She pressed her hands on the sides of the trunk as her descent continued and her forward lurches increased with pace. She had pressed the walls so hard that the patterns of the ornate wood of the trunk began to imprint upon her soft and delicate hands. Her fingertips turned rose and white and she pressed even harder as they reached the lowermost stairs, in an awkward position of almost being vertical as Norsand's foot hit the bottom of the landing. Light sounds of voices could be heard, as she knew they were passing beside the tavern. As she peered through the ornate golden rim of the trunk, she could see Helena force a smile through lips and eyes that looked puffy from crying. She busied herself cleaning tables as she waved from afar in silence. Her husband Landau did the same and polished glasses and dried mugs as he stood behind the bar.

The light of day permeated the perforations in the lid of the trunk as the group stepped outside. The air was crisp and cool compared to the heaviness of that of the tavern. She had not been outside in 5 days and already she missed being free. Thoughts of staying in this trunk plagued her thoughts and she felt as if time slowed down every minute she was inside, in the dark, and the smell of freedom was so lovely that chilly autumn day. Within seconds her apprehension calmed when she thought of where she could be, either still hiding in the room in that quaint tavern or a dungeon, or even headless, like her father. _Better this than be a real prisoner. In Kings Landing I was free to move about but still was in a cage. _ Solace came over her when she remembered her company. She was surrounded by a warrior and friends. There was nothing to fear. She rocked back and forth as she was brought around the tavern to the stables, where the trunk was placed evenly on the ground. The sound of grass made her smile, along with the sound of hooves beating at the ground. She peered out of the golden filigree that encompassed her and saw her friend, Stranger, yet it was not. Instead of the shining coat, as dark as midnight, she saw what appeared to be a different horse, powdery white with small showings of black down his cannons to his hooves. But she knew the fire in those eyes as he bent down to smell the fragrance in the box near him. His nostrils flared near the golden filigree, blowing air out of a soft, powdery white muzzle. She smiled at his greeting to her. Not for that it was amusing, but that his disguise was incredibly clever. She could hear Sandor's gruff voice on the other side of the trunk, thanking Grip for the powder that had already set dry.

"S'won me many a thanks this powder! Many a knight's powdered up them steeds fer tourneys an' such, makin' em pretty fer the crowds. Don't make a difference when them knights bleed, but never runs a streak even in the rain!" he boasted. Sansa smiled. These men were truly resourceful. She was very glad they were on their side. She continued to watch as legs and feet moved around her, and noticed that Moreen was considerably silent. Sansa supposed that although she was boisterous and normally very talkative, she behaved as most women did in the presence of men of age, and men of stature. Based on her position in life and trade, all men were of stature, and she kept to herself. The wheels of a very large cart drawn by two horses rolled by, and Sansa could hear Stranger neigh, most likely in protest of being forced to travel with other horses present. She knew he would not like company. He was a stubborn horse, but was glad she had made a friend of him. After Sandor calmed his stallion, she heard the back of the cart lower and then Grip say that they would lift the trunk and place it in towards the front of the cart, close to the front seat. Presently, she saw the legs of her protector swish by her, when her nose caught the smell of metal and leather upon his passing. Looking out of the back of the trunk she could see his face for a brief second, and saw that his massive facial scar had been concealed in the white powder, and his hood was up. For a brief second his eyes met hers, and what appeared to be a twinkle had shone within them. He was just as excited as she was to begin their escape. He was just too strong to show it. Within a flash, the twinkle was gone and he was right back to the task at hand. Sansa smiled broadly. She took in a deep breath, and relaxed, hands touching the sides of the trunk in relief that they would soon be on their way, and comforted by the strength of her protector. For a moment as she swayed back and forth she thought that there was something more behind that look he had given her, even if only for a second, she knew that there was something more. She could feel it. Her feelings were confirmed by his deep rough whisper.

"In you go, Little Bird. Keep your hair covered and do not open that trunk until we say we are clear."

"Yes Norsand," she whispered, desperately seeking his eyes through the filigree, so she could lock upon them once more. But he had already disappeared outside of the covered cart. But she could still hear him.

"You too. Not a sound until we say clear," he barked at Moreen, and swiftly turned away to mount Stranger.

Moreen was elevated by the hand of Grip, who delicately pulled her in and placed her on top of a leather pouffe, placed atop a circular wicker base that rested next to the ornate trunk that held Sansa securely.

"No noise little pearl. Talk yes, but not too loud 'eh?" he whispered, and planted a velvety soft kiss on the back of Moreen's hand with his thick and generous lips. She blushed a warm crimson and replied,

"As you wish, my captain," and flashed a sensuous smile. If Grip was not so brown, his bald head would have glowed red from the warm rush he felt every time that woman's smile was directed at him.

Seats were taken, treasure carts closed and locked with irons, which made the interior very dark, pitch black, save the sliver of light that escaped from the joining of the two wooden doors that closed the ladies in. After a few moments, a curious thing occurred as the inside of the cart began to strangely lighten. Jars lined on the shelves began to glow a dull orange, and then continued to lighten up inside, reflecting a warm glow. Moreen was intensely curious and rose to see that what lived inside of these jars that were giving off so much light. They were mushroom stalks, attached to decaying pieces of wood that glowed so brightly in the dark with light that rivaled a candle. So much wonder flooded her mind that she was just in awe of the treasures around her. Glints of gold and silver shone in the golden light cast by the jars, along with ornate woods and beautifully cast iron and bronzes. She could not fathom the beauty of the land that was to come and lay itself open for them all. These men were truly skilled at their trade. Her mind reeled with joy at the few magical things she had seen so far and wondered what lovely magic awaited them in Myr. With a snap of reigns, the cart began to move, a slow bumpy commencing pace out of the stables. Once they were on the road, the ride was much smoother and faster. They were off on their way to their new home, a land far away, full of safety, security, prosperity and promise. The cart drove forward, while Norsand Stone guarded from behind. There was much land to cover this day.

The cart thundered on for miles upon miles, stretching north eastward in an impressive pace of the horses toward the safety of the _Fathom Charger_. As the time drew on, the ladies were subject to the bumps and unsteady jumbling of the road beneath them. They assumed that riding in the cart would be a smooth endeavor, but they were subject to the reverberation of every stone and pebble beneath the wheels.

Grip looked around at the scenery around him and an unnerving sense of urgency swept through him. He knew the sensitivity of their transport and the fact that their new friend Norsand purchased the entire shipment of goods they had brought to sell made him even more invested in completing this journey without any trouble. They had traveled for nearly six hours and had covered a great distance. The horses were tired, and he was unsure if night rest would be safer than resting during the day. The reigns in his hands became tight, and suddenly his attention was turned to the trees that were speeding by at in incredible pace. As he peered through the woods, he could see a small ravine that wound through the right of the forest road. It also appeared on the left, which meant that a short covered bridge was coming up ahead. Norsand saw the ravine as well and instinctually knew that it would be likely they would meet another traveler stopping for water. He charged around the cart to call Grip's attention and bring the cart to a halt. Both Moreen and Sansa could hear the hooves of Stranger charge forward and were alert with the sound of the horse's urgency.

"We must be stoppin'…" she whispered to Sansa, who waited impatiently for what was next. Although the ride had rough, she managed to doze off here and there, with her worry and apprehension drowned out by the hooves and noise of the cart. But now, the concern had seeped in once more, and began to intensify as the cart slowed down to a stop.

"Is something wrong?" she breathed though the filigree.

"I don't know just yet, but I'm sure we will," said Moreen nervously.

As the cart came to a definite stop, Grip addressed Norsand with a warm smile. He was always courteous and friendly,

"Water up ahead," he smiled as he stayed the horses.

"Aye, but that is not all," grumbled Norsand. "We need to get up closer to see what may be ahead. Where there is water there is a thirst for many who would have it."

Grip nodded in agreement. "Should I go with you to scout the area?"

"No. I must go alone. Bring the cart and horses into the trees about a quarter mile off. It will be a bit treacherous, but the bush is thick and will conceal you. I will go back out to the road and cover the tracks from behind. "We have about seven hours of daylight left. I will decide if we are to travel by night or not. You guard the women. Do not let them out unless you are sure it is safe. Harrow will keep watch from above." He looked at him with encouragement. Harrow nodded happy to take the role of a watchman. "Traders do not appear to carry suspicion. They will pass you by with no second glance. Off the road now," their leader commanded.

The brush was very thick and the entrance into the wood was a bit of a challenge. The best advantage was that a hedge of wild brambles lined both sides of the road where they were and with some effort they tore through the line with minimal damage and difficulty. About a quarter mile in, there was a clearing, and the ravine twisted its way into the wood in a swift quiet roll over rocks shaped and smoothed by time.

"Perfect," whispered Grip. He would be able to unhitch the horses to they would have a healthy drink and short graze before traveling again. All was quiet and secure, but Grip could not swallow his previous apprehension he felt while on the road. He felt he must speak up, for fear that not mentioning his sense of heightened awareness may lead to misfortune.

"Friend," he called to Sandor, who barely heard him as he turned Stranger eastward to take another path back toward the road. While rounding to rejoin his traveling companion, the stallion's white coat shone brightly here and there as specks of sunlight entered the forest floor. He looked majestic instead of dangerously fierce.

In the cart, the two ladies were straining to listen to the conversation outside.

"I think we stopped at some water," whispered Moreen. "You alright m'lady? 'Ain't nothin' ta worry about. Were safe and in the woods."

"I'm fine," breathed Sansa. "But when will I be able to get out of this box? It is terribly close in here. How are you? We have been traveling for some time now . Is your seat comfortable? Mine feels like a pillow filled with down." There was only one way to get through this discomfort and complaining was not the right choice for now. Besides, she was too excited about where she was going to let a sore bottom trouble her now.

"I will tell ya' tha truth m'lady, I need a pike like a fish needs water." She said with her normal sultry undertone. Sansa's mouth dropped open and she stifled the shock laugh that escaped. Moreen was so alarming and yet comical at the same time. She made the affairs of making love so easy to imagine, and hid nothing from her. She knew that if she asks she would answer honestly.

"I do not think that you will get your wish any time soon," Sansa giggled. Moreen looked at her lady through the filigree and those smoky dark eyes flashed a swift hint of mischief to her companion.

"I may not be able to have pleasure inside of myself, but I could give you a lesson in pleasing a man. I will give my captain some security of things to come. It will last only a few minutes but it will seem like forever to him," her eyes glinted. She always had some sexy business in her mind. She was who she was, and she undoubtedly craved the adventure of her profession; but to take on an act in front of her dearly uncorrupted companion, now that would be an event to tide her over until her time to gain real satisfaction. "Pretend you are asleep and slightly open your eyes to watch. You ain't seen how a lady can use her lips to make a man crazy. May as well show ya now. You can use it for later. Just you don't make a sound my pretty."

Sansa was secretly excited. She did not wish to show it, but the truth was that she knew her companion wanted to be watched. It would be a secret between the two of them after all, and no one would never know that she was awake the whole time. She closed her eyes and leaned back into a slight recline and relaxed, not making a sound.

Grip could hold back the tension no longer. "I have a feeling that something is not as it should be. As if we ain't the only ones here. Just a little time's all we need, just ta' get them horses watered. I don't think we should stay," Grip's brown face glowed in the sunlight and was undoubtedly strewn with concern, causing him to not look so much like himself, and Sandor read him very well for he had the same concern. He nodded and replied.

"We depart in two quarters of an hour," more than enough time for everyone to drink their fill and take some additional water on the road. Sandor rode off quickly and quietly, focused on making sure the path ahead was clear.

Immediately Harrow went to the ravine first while Grip stayed atop the cart, watching carefully and surveying the area around him. Birds were chirping freely and loudly, which was a very good sign. He knew that for the moment they were safe. Harrow had made it to the water and quicker than he knew he could maneuver, was down on all fours, drinking heartily from the ravine, soaking his white beard in the coolness of the water. It was fresh and swift moving, clear of debris. He removed his head cap and splashed the cool water over his head and neck. After he refreshed himself, he walked over to a thicket and relieved himself before washing up at the stream once more and drinking his fill a second time. Upon returning, Grip quickly went to the horses and unhitched them. He knew time was short, and wanted to make sure that the horses had plenty of time to refresh themselves and gather extra water for the journey. As Harrow took his place atop the cart, grip led the horses over to the ravine and watched them drink heavily. With a wooden vessel he scooped one bucketful after the other of the cool water and splashed it over the horses, letting the cool water run down their backs and legs. If they could tell him how much they enjoyed the treatment they would have, but the way they stood quietly still as Grip showered them with care was all he needed in place of thanks. He walked back to the cart, preparing to open the back to retrieve two bundles of fresh herbs they had brought for the journey. He was glad to open the doors of the wagon to see his little pearl.

"Little treasures," he jested. Moreen was happy to see the sunlight stream into the cart and shielded her eyes at the light pouring in. She smiled warmly to see the face of her captain stepping up into the cart.

She immediately rose to meet him and smothered him with a sensual kiss, warm and lovely over his thick lips. She pressed her ample soft bosom into his chest, which caused him to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. He kissed her expertly in return, sucking the lower lip of hers and giving it a playful bite. Moreen closed her eyes in a moment of pure bliss, as she enjoyed his features very much, and as astounded by the softness of his mouth. She was so accustomed to the thin hard lips surrounded by stubble and bristly hair. His longer hair on his chin was soft, almost like lamb's wool and those think lips, she could suck on for days. She brought her hand to his thighs and he held her wrist fast.

"Now my pearl, the lady is here. We can wait till' we're clear and alone," he said through his passionate kiss.

"Ah, my captain, but we are alone. She is asleep," she lied. "Oh please, do come this way. I am so thankful that you have taken me away from that terrible dark place." She slowly brought him close to her seat, and she kissed him fervently along the way. "This won't take but a moment, an' you know I'll make it real good for ya'…" she said as she sat down slowly and began to untie his breeches. All the while, she kept her sultry dark eyes fixed on him. Sansa stayed quiet, watching it all from inside of her chest. She caught herself begin to breathe heavily as she watched what was playing out before her eyes. She made a point to quiet her breath and exhale through her nose to mask her rising sensation. Her eyes became fixed upon the breeches of the captain as Moreen slid her hand into them and began to move it up and down. Sansa could see the captain's reaction as he leaned his head back for a moment, closing his eyes. He then thrust his hips forward, letting Moreen stroke his whole entire length with her lovely soft hand. His eyes became wildly passionate as he opened them to look at her. A long breath escaped from him, and Sansa could see his chest heave and expand in such a way that she heard her draw the air in along with him. He looked at Moreen through eyes clouded by lust and reached up to stroke toe back of her neck. He entwined his large hand into her hair and drew her close. The kiss he gave her sent waves of electricity through Sansa as she watched. It was everything in it that made her passion begin to rise, the breaths in between the lovers' kiss, the outstretched hips of the man being pleased, the way her hand moved up and down his length, Moreen's lustful stare at him, along with her mischievous smile; she admired the way she pleased him. And then he took the hand that entwined her hair and tugged it softly down, signaling her that he wanted more. And Moreen obeyed and went to her knees. She kissed his belly and began to pull out his length when

-KNOCK , KNOCK, KNOCK!- Harrow has rapped loudly on the cart's exterior.

"You find those herbs yet? Them horses need to feed before we're on the road!" he yelled.

Grip let out a huge sigh of disappointment, and his body immediately went limp. All of the passion seemed to leave him with one giant exhale. He quickly brought Moreen o her feet and kissed her passionately and quickly as he tied up his breeches and put himself back into order.

"I'm so sorry my pearl," he breathed. "Please, wake up the little miss and you two come out for some water and relief."

Moreen threw him a scornful glance.

"Well maybe not that type of relief my little pearl. " He came close to her and gave her one last gentle kiss.

"Don't worry, we will have time. And when we do, you'll have your bliss first." He winked and rushed out of the back of the cart.

Moreen sighed heavily, and did her best to regain her composure. She then crouched down to the trunk and heard giggles coming from the lovely piercing blue eyes through the filigree.

"So much for the lesson!" she laughed and helped Sansa out of the trunk.

As the ladies drank from the cool water they both savored it, and dipped cloths into it to wash their faces necks and arms. Sansa wished she could wash her hair in the clean water but did not want to risk travelling with a wet head. Grip offered them one of the buckets and brought it over to some thick brush so that they could relieve and wash themselves in some minimal privacy. The ladies agreed to take turns so they may stand guard over one another. All the while, Grip wasted no time and two giant barrels were removed from the cart, filled with fresh water and then closed and rolled back to be loaded up again. This water would last several days if they had to ration it. Harrow came down from his perch to help his friend with the heavy lifting. Soon it was time for the company to take their places once again to take on the rest of the journey. Just then the attention of the travelers was commanded when the heard the distant snap of twigs and the sound of a group of horses. The two men and ladies became fearful and a rise of panic swelled in all of them. In a swift moment a massive dark figure atop a white stallion charged through the brush, with two horses tethered behind him.


End file.
